


Gin and Chthonic

by eggplantsavant (mightyscrub)



Category: Dream Daddy: A Dad Dating Simulator
Genre: Angst, Cult Ending, Fluff, M/M, Oral Sex, Post-Game, Slow Burn, but also... supernatural adventures because of course, slight Dadsona/Joseph, trans dadsona, violence tw
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-24
Updated: 2017-09-12
Packaged: 2018-12-06 13:43:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 49,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11601834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mightyscrub/pseuds/eggplantsavant
Summary: Post-Robert's route.  A look at how Dadsona and Robert circle around each other and eventually fall into a more official relationship when the time is right.  Yet in the meantime, there's also something sinister afoot in the cul-de-sac... because I am very allured by the cult ending.Rating for later chapters.  Spoilers abound.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This one... this one is going to be indulgent lol
> 
> I wasn't sure how I wanted to write the Dadsona, so I went with sticking to first person and limited descriptions to stay as close to the game's voice as possible. Plus I figured it would be less fun if ya'll couldn't imagine your own Dadsona OCs and self-inserts in here ; ) His name is George.

Robert’s funk-ometer, measuring from swarthy to actually functional, had found a nice middle balance recently, sometimes leaning more swarthy, but if you gave him a gentle nudge he’d hop back in the game pretty quickly these days. Eat a fruit or something. I was incredibly proud of him.

I noticed Val’s car in his driveway on my way to Damien’s, so I left them alone for the time being. Instead, Damien’s imposing mansion awaited me, sticking out like a sore black gargoyle-encrusted thumb in the cul-de-sac. There was one particular gargoyle on the front porch that kinda looked like a dog and I’d developed a ritual of stealthily patting him on the head for good luck.

I used the antique knocker, which had rusted for the perfect amount of atmospheric creaking, and Damien answered with a flourish.

“George, my dear friend!” He was dressed to the nines, of course, hair billowing just as delicately as his cloak.

He got miffed if you called it a cape.

“Greetings!” I tried the least awkward grin in my repertoire. “Ready for the ol’ b-b-q?” There seemed to be an unwritten rule that all neighborhood barbecues were hosted by Joseph. I actually walked right past the party house on my way here, carrying a tray of fancy folded deli meats this time, but I had something important to attend to here first. In addition to the meat tray, I was lugging around a pretty enormous tome, and Damien happily plucked this out of my arms.

“Did you finish it?” he asked, subtly turning the book over in his hands to check for blemishes, but I noticed. He was very protective of his books. It meant a lot he was willing to lend it to me in the first place.

“Yeah!” I lied. Actually, it was too much history and too boring, but I gave it the old college try. "It was, um. Neat. I liked the chapter about top hats."

What mattered was that it was important to Damien and I felt closer to him now. I’d gotten used to his eccentricities. In fact, he was a super nice guy. He even sent me a letter when we were first getting to know each other, and after awhile of decoding his flowery language, I realized he was reaching out to me as a fellow trans guy. He passed so well I hadn’t even known. This cul-de-sac really did have everything I could need, huh?

Lucien, Damien’s son of a more modern goth persusasian, appeared over Damien’s shoulder. “Where’s Amanda?” he asked.

“She heard the barbecue had a limited supply of cocktail weenies and wanted to lay siege as soon as possible,” I said. “How’s school, Lucien?”

He ignored me, but it was more in the good-natured way that teenagers ignore all adults, rather than the antagonism we used to have. He just plugged in his ear buds and cranked up the volume.

“Shall we?” Damien phantomed the book off somewhere in his grand atrium and cloak-swished his way out the door. I realized for the first time he was carrying a tupperware of sliced watermelon. Where’d he pull that out from?

“Uh. We shall.”

Barbecue time.

It was early September, so we were all clinging to the last few barbecue days we could before the cold tore us away from our grills once more, like Persephone and her beloved spring. It was already jacket weather closer to the bay.

The whole neighborhood was there in the Christiansens’ yard as usual, save for a Robert-shaped empty space. We dumped our offerings on a table stuffed with food. Then Mary slouched over to me, spilling a healthy slop of wine onto the grass, which was probably a good indicator of how many she’d had so far.

“Details,” she demanded very seriously, as Damien made a beeline for my daughter. Amanda already had a semi-circle of dads grilling her on her first two weeks of college.

“No details,” I said.

“That’s rare,” said Mary. “Not even a little touch?”

“Why are you so interested in our sex life?”

“Or lack thereof,” she corrected. “I’m not, it’s just incredibly rare for Robert. He must be pretty uninterested.”

My face must’ve looked glum despite myself, because she thwacked me resoundingly on the back.

“You still need to learn I’m messing with you 90% of the time, George.”

“I forgot.” But I smiled because she was giving me a rare warm look.

Close to my ear, so I could smell the pungent fruitiness of her wine, she said, “He’s changed a lot, hasn’t he?” It was as fond as I ever heard her.

However, Amanda was now giving me the Come Save Me look from across the lawn, so I gingerly adjusted Mary’s elbow so her glass wasn’t tilting quite so groundward and took my leave.

Amanda was holding a little styrofoam bowl with more cocktail weenies than was probably polite, but she hadn’t had a chance to dig in because she was fielding questions from Damien, Craig, and Hugo all at the same time.

“So the roommate seems nice,” Damien was saying.

“That’s awesome, bro!” said Craig. In Craig’s mind, Amanda impressively existed both as a bro and as the daughter of a bro. “You two will be quick friends, I can tell.”

“Remember, with art classes you’ll have to schedule your time wisely,” said Hugo. “Socializing is crucial freshman year, but don’t forget to get into the studio too. You can’t procrastinate anymore at the college level!”

They were all in full dad mode, huh? Amanda was smiling gamely, but it was clear she would rather dive off a building than talk about her future. Of course, the guys didn’t know that she’d zipped on home for a weekend so soon because she was feeling overwhelmingly homesick… to the point of having second thoughts on whether she could really do this. But that was top secret father-daughter information.

“Are Daisy and Carmensita around?” I asked loudly.

Daisy and Carmensita were actually both waiting a few steps away, as if their own rescue mission had been stopped cold by such a powerful display of communal dading. They swooped in at my word, and Amanda mouthed a silent thank you as I took her place in the conversation circle.

“You must be proud,” said Damien, smiling.

Of course I was! Nothing would change that, either.

As the afternoon wound into evening and the burgers and bratwurst sizzled under Joseph’s expert hand, I took a bathroom break and lingered a little longer inside than necessary. The Christiansens’ house was always pristine, to the point I felt vaguely unwelcome in it, like a swarm of house antibodies would notice my intrusion and digest me right there in the kitchen, leaving the maritime backsplash spotless afterwards. But it was also hard not to be entranced by this Martha Stewart level of living. I poked around the kitchen a little just admiring the finishings, like flipping through a fancy house magazine. Did Joseph install this stuff himself? It was hard to imagine Mary putting much effort into the trinkets. There were letter magnets on the fridge, but nobody had made any words with them. A game that didn’t go anywhere, maybe.

My nosiness satisfied, I found myself kind of tiptoeing my way towards the back door again, weirdly on edge, worrying that maybe I was tracking microscopic dirt onto the hardwood… And then out of the corner of my eye I saw a dark figure looming in the living room.

I squawked.

It was Robert.

“You almost gave me a heart attack!”

He smiled thinly. He had a little plate that was mostly empty except for some weenies. “I’m stalking you,” he said.

“What were you doing in Joseph’s living room?” I asked suspiciously.

As if to prove exactly how unafraid he was of this house’s surreal cleanliness, he plopped himself unceremoniously onto Joseph’s tidy sofa. Robert, you fiend!

“Federal investigation,” he said lazily, arm slung across the back of the couch and weenies held to his chest. “I have a warrant, I just left it at my house.”

I cautiously approached the living room, with its perfectly smooth carpet. “Won’t they take your badge away for stalking me?”

“It’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

He tilted his head back to shoot me a grin and ok, fine, I entered the living room.

The mantle was painted a clean white with blue finishes and had a big ol' fish gawking in the middle, standing watch over a collection of family photographs. From what I could see, they were all those sorts of professional family photos with monocolor backgrounds and everybody wearing turtlenecks.

Their tv was huge too. I mean, of course it was.

With a final internal _fuck it_ , I sat down next to Robert, leaning back into his arm. His face was carefully blank, to psych me out, but I could tell he was pleased. I could smell his cologne, which was much subtler and nicer these days, now that he wasn’t relying on it for a shower substitute. It was a pleasantly spicy smell, mixed in with the worn-out leather of his omnipresent jacket.

Behind me, his hand briefly fiddled with the ends of my hair, gentle.

Then he pulled his arm forward and stabbed one of the cocktail weenies on his plate with a toothpick. “A gift from your daughter,” he said, offering it to me.

“I knew she couldn’t eat that whole bowl.” I accepted it and he stabbed one for himself. “You talked to her?”

“Mmm,” he grunted.

I didn’t press the matter. He and Amanda liked each other, but I’d noticed Robert was uncharacteristically shy around her, even tentative, like he was scared of somehow messing things up for me.

“Dang… These are actually really good,” I said, decimating the weenie in a single bite.

Robert had made quick work of his as well and was rolling the toothpick between his lips in a way that was rather distracting for me, personally, as an appreciator of Robert’s lips. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

“What do you mean?”

“She came back really early.”

Ah. I sighed, twirling my own toothpick between my fingers. “She’s having some trouble adjusting at school… That’s pretty normal, I think. Sorry, the details are top secret.” I knew Amanda would be mortified if I told Robert she came home crying. She and Robert weren’t quite at that level yet.

Robert took it easily. “If she ever needs anything…” He shrugged a shoulder, frowning a little down at his plate while he clacked his toothpick against his teeth. Seemed like he had no clue what he could offer, now that he thought about it, but the offer was still there. That was very Robert, huh?

“She’ll be okay,” I said, trying not to worry either. “How’s Val?”

Robert’s eyes smiled (his mouth was too occupied by the toothpick). “She’s great.”

“I’m glad.”

We fell into a comfortable silence, our shoulders brushing. Robert didn’t seem too interested in the remaining weenies, so I helped myself.

It was upon the last weenie that disaster struck.

I was too nonchalant in my toothpick’s approach, and instead of a clean stab, the last weenie slid right off the toothpick edge and went careening off the plate. It bounced across my lap… and then landed squarely on a perfectly white throw pillow.

The pillow was hand embroidered with little fish designs, like a kindly grandma had toiled over it for months, and even though I grabbed the weenie with my lightning fast reflexes, it still left behind a very obvious brown stain on the white.

I sucked in more air than I thought my lungs could take, eyes wide.

Robert looked like he was gonna have an aneurysm from trying not to laugh.

“Shut up, I killed it, I murdered Joseph’s pillow.”

“Mary will love it.”

“Shut _up_.”

I was already scrubbing at it with my sleeve, but it just smeared the weenie juices around.

Robert staggered to his feet, making awkward aborted snorting noises trying not to, I assume, asphyxiate himself at my expense.

“Help me!” I demanded.

“No helping it. We gotta run.”

I followed him as we left the house quickly.

The sun was setting now and it was a cool evening, a bit colder than I was dressed for, but everybody was still there on the lawn, mostly sitting now, settled into longer conversations as their full bellies relaxed. In the growing dark, the backyard was now illuminated by lines of Christmas lights and tiki torches.

We almost ran right into Mat in a lawn chair, whose daughter Carmensita was talking to him excitedly. She’d had a growth spurt over the summer, and towered over him when he was sitting.

“Why are you holding a weenie?” Mat asked me.

Oh no! The evidence!

I stuffed it in my mouth.

Mat raised an eyebrow but didn’t question me further. He was cool like that. And maybe also slightly disturbed.

Carmensita had her hands cupped in front of her, and gave us a toothy grin as she brought us into the same secret she’d been showing her dad… she opened her fingers just enough for us to see a little sandy-colored toad in her palms.

“It’s frog time?” Robert asked, very intensely. There was a frog time?

“Yeah!” Carmensita enthused. “They’re everywhere!”

Robert moved quickly. He left his empty plate rudely on the food table, and took off his jacket which he thrusted onto me. Then he rolled up the sleeves of his red shirt…

“Show me the frogs,” he said, like a man on a mission, and Carmensita diligently led him to where the other kids (Amanda included) were mid- frog hunt.

I pulled a chair up next to Mat, because there’s not many other ways to follow that up.

We watched Robert absolutely terrify the kids with the seriousness of his life-or-death frog hunting techniques and no doubt stories of his exploits in the backwoods hunting the rare North American poison dart frog. But the kids had fun. To them Robert was like the thrill of sneaking a scary movie behind your parent’s back. Kids like to be scared sometimes, in situations where they’re actually quite safe.

“Always a little sad to see summer go,” said Mat quietly. “But it’s nice too isn’t it? Reminds you of the good times you had.”

“That’s a bit deep for me,” I joked.

He side-eyed the jacket I was hugging a little too protectively. “If you say so,” he said, with a conspiratory smile.

I was getting colder, so after a long few moments of hesitation I put Robert’s jacket on, a heavy weight over my shoulders.

It warmed me up immediately, still holding body heat and Robert smell.

x


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is, like... the Mega Fluff chapter. Fluff 2: Son of Fluff's Revenge.

Early Sunday morning, Amanda and I were in the driveway saying goodbye again, a mirror of the first time but somewhat more harried and less impressive since it was being repeated so soon.

She was all jokes and smiles, but I could tell she was putting some of it on so I wouldn’t worry. Her panda pin--the most important one--broke and fell off her jacket over breakfast, and we both just kinda stared at it on the table like it was a bad omen.

It was safely in her purse now, and she gave me a big hug.

“You’re doing great,” I told her.

Friday night she’d driven in and just… stayed in her car in the driveway while I waited for her, my excitement slowly fading as I realized something was wrong. When I went out to find her, she was still in the driver’s seat, crying.

_“It’s just good to see your dumb face, Dad.”_

It wasn’t like Amanda to be very dependent… But now that I thought about it, we had relied on each other tremendously ever since her mom passed away. Now, with Emma R (or was it P?) on amicable but more distant terms, and at a new school so far away, with a clean slate… Did that loneliness come back?

I’d been pretty lonely the two weeks she was gone. It had been easier for me to ignore, assuming that she was off having fun and following her dreams with a big grin on her face. But now that I’d seen her run home and cling to me so uncharacteristically…

I tried not to let my own feelings get in the way of saying goodbye again properly. I had an inkling she secretly wanted me to give her an out, to ask her to stay. But I knew that wasn’t right. I knew that she could do this.

“I’m proud of you,” I added.

“Thanks, Dad.”

She lingered with her thumb on the unlock button of her keys, as if waiting for me to whisk her back into the house, her home.

I tried not to feel guilty that it wasn’t going to happen.

The driver’s door unlocked with a little thunk and she opened it, swung her purse inside.

“Love you,” she said.

“Love you, too. Text me when you get there?”

“Yeah.” She tried her best smile for me and I tried to give her the same.

I stood there with my arms crossed and watched her pull out and circle the cul-de-sac and drive off again, off into a world I knew very little about. It had to happen… right? Why were there never solid answers in parenting?

I must’ve been thinking too much, because a scraping noise nearby snapped me out of it, made me jump.

It was my next-door neighbor taking out the trash, pulling back the lid of the recycling bin. Joseph. He was in his baby blue sweater, which clung to his chest, and smiled at me as he swung one garbage bag into the bin then moved on to landfill. How much had he seen?

“Morning,” he said, voice not even straining as he heaved the second very heavy-looking bag into its proper bin.

“Morning. Great barbecue last night.”

“It was a good turnout, I’d say! It’s good to have friends.” His smile quirked higher in a meaningful way.

Joseph and Mary hadn’t experienced college age kids yet, but then again they had such a brood they must be old pros in their own way.

“Do you ever…?” I started and stopped again, feeling stupid.

He already had his hands interlocked over his stomach, standing there waiting, like he’d known this was coming all along. Youth pastor sixth sense.

“How do you know you’re on the right track?” I asked, deflating.

“You don’t,” he said. “That’s where faith comes in. You have to believe in something and do everything in your power to keep walking toward it. That doesn’t have to be a religious thing, either.”

His smile was so magnanimous and handsome that, surprisingly, I actually felt better.

“... Thanks.”

“No problem, neighbor.”

I hoped he hadn’t noticed the pillow yet.

Just then, Christie came hobbling down the front lane. It was rare to see her without her twin. Her eyes were strangely more alert than usual, but there was something vaguely off about her walk, like her knees were knocking into each other. My dad instincts were making me worried, but I wasn’t sure why.

“Daddy… I’m hungry.” She was limply carrying something, and I realized as she came to Joseph’s leg that it was a pair of safety scissors, hanging open idly. “Hungry… We’re hungry.” There was something so intent about it. She leaned close to him but wouldn’t touch him at the same time.

Joseph scooped her up, perched her on his arm, and my dad worries subsided. His smile was still so genuine.

“Let’s get some pancakes going then, huh?” he said. Her hand curled against his neck, still chubby with baby fat, and the scissors brushed under his chin. I tried not to get goosebumps at that. “See you around, George?”

Christie was staring at me, eyes round and piercing.

“Uh. Yeah!”

“We should hang out,” he said, with the hurried earnestness of a dad trying to get in one last adult conversation before the chasm of dadhood sucked him under again. “There’s still so little I know about you.”

“That would be great!” I barely knew Joseph either, even though we were right nextdoor. “We could catch The Game or something.”

Christie snipped the scissors with an audible clip.

Joseph didn’t even flinch. “Alright, alright, pancakes.”

He carried her off, chattering cheerfully, and she watched me over his shoulder the whole way.

x

The house was really empty without Amanda. There’s only so many times you can walk to the kitchen, realize you’re just bored instead of hungry, then walk back to the living room, only to walk to the kitchen again later for no reason. 

The realization struck me quickly: I would die of boredom.

Boredom combined with old loneliness… Thinking too much about that look on Amanda’s face as she drove away…

Damn. Her mom had always been better at this stuff than me. But that line of thought only made me more lonely.

With finality and determination, I whipped out the internet and did some research. Finding the address that I needed, I sent Robert a text, because I wanted to see him.

**George: WYD?**

I had learned from Amanda what this abbreviation meant, of course. He didn’t answer for a long time, despite Dadbook saying that he’d read the message. I watched a whole episode of Man vs. Foodtruck, where the host managed to drag an entire foodtruck with his teeth, this time in sunny San Jose, before I sent a follow-up text.

**George: I’m getting a dog.**

The response came immediately this time.

**Robert: omw**

I squinted.

**George: whats that mean  
Robert: on my way**

I got up and hurried to tidy myself in the mirror.

My relationship with Robert was… comfortable? Or at least it wasn’t uncomfortable. I was realizing now what a whirlwind we’d had getting to know each other, everything desperate and somewhat handsy, because that had been a desperate time for Robert. Maybe for both of us, in retrospect. Taking a breather was obviously a good idea.

But it had created a weird limbo that we now inhabited. It had been a great couple of months, that was certainly true, but beneath our easy friendship was this pulled-tight rubber band, always in danger of snapping and hurting someone’s fingers. Sexual tension! But also more than that, an uneasy push-pull of _Will we? Won’t we? What happens next, when, how…_

_Would anything happen at all?_

I tried to ignore it and just live in the moment, yet here I was in the bathroom trying to fix my part. I hadn’t paid attention to my damn part in years!

Robert was a special person to me. I wanted him to like my hair, but not to the detriment of his health…

I would wait. See where it went on its own.

At the last moment I messed up my hair again just to be contrary and right then somebody started honking annoyingly in my driveway, which could only be Robert. I grabbed my wallet and my jotted-down directions and hurried outside, remembering my own jacket this time.

Robert’s red pickup was pulled in front of the garage, and he was actually wearing his sunglasses, face stoic under the reflective orange lenses, his arm hanging out the open window. When he spotted me exiting, he smacked the door to get me to hurry up. I shot him a withering look as I was locking up.

“You coulda just walked and I would have drove,” I told him as I piled into the passenger seat. His car always smelled overwhelmingly of hot leather and cigarette smoke, like it carried its own humidity.

He turned to me, still looking very cool, his hair windswept so the grays under his fringe were curled up to the top, framing his forehead.

“You’ll be holding the dog on the way home,” he said.

I hadn’t thought of that.

Oh man. We were really doing this.

I took a deep breath and looked over my instructions. “There’s a shelter over by the aquarium,” I said.

Robert smiled for some reason. “Oh. I know that one.”

“Did you get Betsy there?” I asked, interest piqued.

“How many times do I have to tell you Betsy is a secret government splicing experiment?” He gave me a heavy pat on the thigh. “Seatbelt.”

Whoops. I fastened my seatbelt, and he put the car in drive. He still drove a stick shift, but it somehow added to his mystery. I hadn’t figured out yet how to pretend my own lame qualities were cool like that, to the extent of Robert’s effortless aura of bullshit.

“We ride,” he declared, and blasted a Best of Queen album.

x

The animal shelter was a small storefront stuffed beside a laundromat, and when we got there it had a big red Closed sign in the window. I tried not to look as crestfallen as I felt, because it was really more crestfallen than I had any reason to be, right?

It occurred to me one of us would have to say something, but before I could get anything out Robert sighed through his nose and swung out his cellphone, punching in a number.

“Hey,” he said, phone to his ear. “I’m outside the shelter. Open up.”

Presumably there was a response to this, because he stuffed his phone back in his pocket and flashed me an OK sign.

What in the world? But then again, Robert running a secret crime ring of dog shelters wouldn’t come entirely as a surprise.

I tried to peer through the window for any hint of what lay beyond, but there were drapes pulled on the other side.

Out of the corner of my eye, though, I caught Robert fiddling with his hair, watching his reflection in the same window. I knew he wasn’t very vain, sometimes to the point of being a total slob, so this stealth adjustment could only be… for me?

When I turned back to him, careful not to let on that I knew, he’d smoothed out his hair to hide the grays, and smiled innocently. How could I break it to him that I loved the grays? In a friend way?

The door opened a crack and, to my alarm, Mary poked her head out.

“Closed means closed, sailors,” she said dryly. Then, shooting Robert a Look, she added, “I gave you that number in case you needed a ride home, not to harass me at work.”

“You work at an animal shelter?” I gaped.

She smirked at me. “Well. Volunteer.” She gave me a once over. “I forgot. You’ve got an empty nest.”

“Good adopting material,” Robert said.

“Fine. Just don’t touch anything.” She opened the door fully, keys dangling in her other hand, and let us inside.

The lights were low, except for over the front desk where they seemed to be blaringly white all the time. Her wedge heels thumped on the hard flooring.

“Where is everybody?” Robert asked. “You’re open on Sundays.”

“Our big mastiff got out,” Mary said, hooking a dark-nailed finger around her necklace chain. “Duchess Cordelia. Literally everybody is out looking for her. I’m holding the fort, and it’s a hassle to feed the puppies and deal with customers at the same time.”

“Puppies!” I wheezed, already overwhelmed.

She took a key off her keyring and tossed it at Robert.

“You can show him the rest of the crew. I’ll bring the puppies in when they’re ready.”

Robert seemed to know the place reasonably well. He frowned a little figuring out which hall to go down, but in the end chose correctly and led me to a locked door, which opened onto a long room lined with large well-furnished cages.

The animals greeted us excitedly, some of them blinking back sleepiness, dogs of all shapes and sizes, and a few cats curled up on higher shelves. A big lab snuffled at the bars of his cage, which had a makeshift I’ve Been Adopted! <3 sign hanging on lined paper. The fancy handwriting looked familiar somehow. Robert and I stuck our fingers through the wiring to secretly pet him, and he slobbered on us graciously.

A little dachshund's tail was wagging so fast it looked like it would disconnect from his butt and helicopter through the roof. There was an unidentifiable white mop of a dog whose eyes were impossible to see but who stared at us with good-naturedness in her unreadable fluff face. I was getting emotional. I loved all these dogs.

Robert wasn’t helping, he kept reading off their names from their cards.

“Lulu. Wiggles. Professor Flitwick.”

“Stop, I can’t take it.”

“You really did need help.”

A kitten stuck her arm out of her cage from above and hooked a claw on the rim of Robert’s sunglasses, knocking them to his chin. I almost died.

“Remember to breathe,” he told me seriously, while also shooting the kitten a just as serious squint as if to say _I’m onto you_.

“Ok. Ok, I’ve got this, I just need some silence.” If I didn’t find my zen place now, I would be doomed by the time the puppies arrived.

He shut up, and as we continued down the line of cages, I read the cards myself.

One cage almost looked empty in the shadows, until I realized I was looking at a fat black cat, her narrow yellow eyes watching me long before I registered them.

Zelda. Sex: F. Age: 13. Notes: A queen.

“This cat is thirteen years old,” I said.

Robert leaned to my side and peered in at her. “Unlucky,” he said solemnly.

“Has she been here her whole life?”

“Who knows? She’s here now. That’s pretty old not to have your own turf.”

“Or family.”

As I looked at her more closely, I saw that her fur had rich undertones of brown, and flecks of stark gray in the tiny hairs of her nose. She was the oldest animal here by at least five years.

She kinda looked like she was glaring at me, but also like she was tired, and a little uncomfortable in that cage.

Then Mary kicked open the door we’d left ajar and said “Incoming.”

She had a cardboard box of (literally) bouncing baby pugs, their collars jangling wildly as they realized there were two new humans here to meet.

I made a really awful noise.

“George, don’t be a dweeb,” Mary said. Robert touched my shoulder and elbow as a kinda forewarning that he was gonna sneak around me, and did just that, examining the box until a puppy just about leapt at him and he had to catch it.

He held the pup up appraisingly, one big hand on its back and the other cupped under its wrinkly butt. He’d put his sunglasses back on, so I couldn’t really tell what he was thinking.

“That’s a good dog,” he said, as if imparting great wisdom.

“That’s what you say about all the dogs,” said Mary.

He held it to his chest, bouncing it slightly. The pug snorted at the patch of skin at his v-neck, tucked under his scruffy chin.

Mary had no mercy, she was bringing the box my way.

My arms, moving of their own accord, stuffed themselves elbow deep into the puppy swarm. I scooped up two of them, and they squirmed around all fat and rolly and licked my face on either side.

My brain short-circuited for roughly three minutes.

“Ok,” I said, steadying myself. “Alright. Ok.”

I gently returned the pups to their sibling pile, and they squeaked appreciatively.

Robert’s was falling asleep, cycling a paw against his hand, adding a few scratches to the white little scars he had from playing with knives. He jingled the pup’s collar with his knuckle and said something to it that I couldn’t hear. Then he returned his puppy to the box as well, hands lingering for some excited group licks.

Somewhere along the line, Robert’s gray hairs had sprung out again, stubbornly hanging over his ears. My heart did a weird lurch. And at the same time, I was reminded of the little gray hairs on the black cat’s nose.

“Zelda… She’s an old cat?” I asked, gesturing to where her cage was in the shadows behind me.

Mary peered at me hawkishly. “Yeah, I know her.”

“Uh. She might be the one, I think.”

Robert looked up.

“She’s old,” Mary reminded me.

“That means it’s harder for her to sell, right?”

Mary shrugged. “The puppies will go quickly,” she admitted.

“Circumstances are guilting me into buying her.” I tried an only moderately awkward grin. I also whipped out the finger guns because I knew they would offend her enough to defer any further questions.

Appropriately she rolled her eyes, then went to return the puppies to their cage and bring out Zelda.

Robert morphed to my side, like a ninja. He simply stood there silently for a moment while Mary swore at the puppies, then leaned closer so we were almost cheek to cheek. I side-eyed him and he met my gaze steadfastly through the arm of his sunglasses.

“You sure?” he asked. “Don’t just act on pity. You might not have much time with her.”

I shrugged a shoulder, my heart doing a weird lurch again as I watched Mary coax the ornery cat into a carrier.

“Well. Sometimes you just have to take what you can get, you know?” I said, and I looked away then, unable to quite meet his eyes. “The length of the time doesn’t matter, just that it’s there.”

I was being a little too topical. I wondered if he could see right through me.

He didn’t have any comments on that, simply straightened and rolled his neck with an audible pop.

The rubberband underlying our friendship pulled tight for a moment, then relaxed as we both frantically loosened our holds. 

We were old pros at this already.

x


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Subtlety? What's that??

Zelda did not like her carrier, and she was also very good at yowling.

Mary perched her on the front desk while she started filling out paperwork for us and preparing us a goodie bag of mature cat kibble and the other basics we would need, for an added charge.

I bent to try and peek in at Zelda through the grate. This would be my new housemate, huh? My new buddy. “Hey, sweetie, it’s ok--”

She hissed at me passionately.

It was pretty spectacular how a cat’s whole head smooshed back to morph into 120% teeth for a good hiss. I wondered if my idealism was perhaps naive.

Behind me, Robert casually put his hands on my shoulders, close to my neck like he was gonna massage some kinks out, but really he was just kinda loitering, a familiar weight against me. He was surprisingly touchy with his friends. Or at least he was with me.

“I like her,” he said. “She has spice for an old dame.”

Spice wasn’t something I’d expected in middle age, yet here I was in present company.

Just then a sidedoor swung open and a tall man stormed into the shelter, dressed in the nerdiest of sales floor apparel with his hair back in a black ponytail. He launched into a tirade immediately without looking up:

“Mare Bear, I’m never showing my face again. That went terrible and I’m absolutely mortified--”

He stopped dead, the brown eyes behind his glasses going huge, locking with mine.

“Damien?” I gawked.

“ _Mare bear_?” Robert said, grinning and shooting Mary the most delighted look. She was unimpressed.

Damien’s face flushed with blood, which was the only goth thing about him currently.

“... It’s gotten worse,” he said weakly.

He had on white tennis shoes and khakis and a nametag that said Hello My Name Is Damien, as if to ensure me that this really was my good friend, despite the lack of cloak and cravat. He wasn’t even wearing makeup. His eyes weren’t actually purple. I was reeling.

Damien, for his part, looked like he was having a naked at school nightmare but also trying to be a gentleman about it. Getting caught Out Of Goth was obviously a big deal for him.

“Working hard?” Robert asked, tactful for maybe the first time in his life, thank god. Damien must be in his good books.

“Yes,” Damien sighed. “I’m sorry you had to see me like this. It’s truly not the personality I would hope to convey.”

“Dude, it’s ok,” I said quickly. “We’re all in sneakers sometimes.”

“I can’t wear my boot knife every day because the clip gives me blisters,” added Robert. Even I couldn’t tell if he was being serious or not.

“Thank you, gentlemen,” said Damien. 

Mary laid a hand on his arm. “Don’t worry about impressing these losers, Dames,” she said, which could have been one of her usual barbs except it sounded weirdly sweet all of the sudden.

Damien pushed up his glasses with his thumb.

“Duchess…” he said slowly “...is accounted for. She’s going to live with Hugo.”

“Hugo never struck me as a dog person…” I said, to which Mary shot me an unexpectedly sharp look to shut me up. I realized belatedly it was story time. Damien’s eyes were lowered, gearing up to spill the hot details.

“Duchess broke into Hugo’s house,” he said. “I’ll be paying the adoption fee. Secretly of course. I offered it to be waived as a courtesy.”

We all waited, hanging on his words, Mary in particular looking very intent indeed. He continued.

“I wouldn’t normally cut corners for just anyone, especially not with Duchess, but I’ve known Hugo for a long time. Lucien and Ernest are…” The corners of Damien’s mouth dug into his cheeks queasily. “... friends?”

“In a lowkey blood feud sort of way,” Mary supplied.

“Anyway, it was… It’s difficult to describe, but I think I witnessed something important. Ernest and Duchess really got along famously… And Hugo…” Damien’s mouth corners dug in deeper, like they were trying to hide. “He was really excited to see his son acting like a kid for a little longer. With that look on his face, I guess I just followed my heart and waived the fee. Hugo and Ernest both seemed happier than I’ve seen them in awhile.”

He paused again. It sounded like a really sweet story to me, but Mary had this look on her face of kind pity, and all at once Damien put his head in his hands.

“... And I was dressed like this!” he said.

The climactic conclusion.

“I’m sure Hugo didn’t really care…” I tried, but Mary shot me a silent shut up again.

“He’s so _refined_ ,” Damien moaned. His ears were very red under stray hairs slipping loose in his ponytail. “His tastes are impeccable. Even his living room was scholarly and astute. And I came barging in with a dog and… IT wardrobe.”

It finally dawned on me that Damien was mighty interested in giving Hugo a good impression. 

“Well I’ll be damned,” said Robert. “You’re hot for teacher.”

“I’ve ruined everything,” said Damien.

I had already failed at my previous attempts at comfort, but I couldn’t help but be a little baffled. Damien seemed to think Hugo was an intellectual god, yet my impression of Hugo had always been that he was, in Amanda’s words, a total dork.

I couldn’t find it too funny, though, not when Damien was so embarrassed. He looked like he would very happily transform into a vampire bat and fly away. 

“Trap him,” Robert said. He and I were on the same page. Damien needed wingmen stat.

I nodded vigorously. “You guys share a hedge, right? I bet he’ll need dog handling tips. Daily wisdom.”

“That’s good,” said Robert. “But he needs an edge. Victorian literature?”

“I mostly read nonfiction and comic books,” Damien admitted.

Mary was watching on with vague approval, but the big sell hadn’t dropped yet.

There was something on the tip of my tongue…

“Amanda,” I said. “My daughter. Damien, I can proudly say she stuffed all the mess in her bedroom into her closet before she left, thinking I wouldn’t notice. I have not yet dared to enter this closet, but she must have every old school paper in there still…”

Robert understood and clapped me on the back. “Good man,” he said solemnly.

“Sorry?” said Damien.

“She had Hugo’s class her senior year. Surely she must still have her reading list crammed somewhere… Your own cheat sheet, written by Hugo himself.”

“All of lit’s greatest hits,” said Robert, with way more seriousness than a line that cheesy deserved.

Damien stood a little straighter.

Mary didn’t say anything, but I felt if she had a drink she would have raised it to me in silent acknowledgement.

“How rude of me,” Damien said, but there was the start of a smile in his eyes now. “I didn’t even ask… You two are adopting?”

Why’d he have to say it like that? “Just me,” I said, my neck heating up.

“Zelda is a queen,” said Damien.

Was anybody going to tell me what that meant? I glanced at my new cat friend again, who was currently rumbling low in her throat and glaring death at me.

Mary finished the adoption form and took my credit card. Their card machine was super clunky, but such were small businesses. Then with far too little preamble, Mary hefted up Zelda’s carrier again and plopped it into my arms before I could protest.

Oh, Zelda disliked that very much.

She thrashed hard enough to shake the carrier, and Robert had to swoop in to steady me one-handedly, a jug of cat litter already in the other. I smiled manically. Now it was my turn to be embarrassed.

But Mary and Damien graciously didn’t comment. I looked between the two of them, standing so nonchalantly in one another’s space.

“Did you guys meet here?” I asked, blabbering out small talk in that awkward moment before the finality of goodbyes.

“Dames is my itty bitty baby brother,” Mary deadpanned.

I smiled a little more, assuming she was joking, but everybody else in the room was unfazed.

“Holy shit,” I said.

“You’ve lived here how long and you didn’t know that?” Robert was quick to go in for the kill, but he was also smiling one of those good big smiles that bunched up the crow’s feet at his eyes over his sunglasses.

“You’re a peach, George,” Mary sighed.

x

Zelda hated the car even more than being in her carrier and could only express this through opera, or what I assumed was a rough cat equivalent.

With the carrier in my lap, I tried to calm her down for awhile, but it was obviously doing no good. Not even Freddie Mercury’s dulcet tones could soothe her.

“She’ll keep the burglars away nicely,” said Robert. Evening was starting to fall so he’d finally clipped his sunglasses to his shirt, squinting a little at the road. The bags under his eyes had all but disappeared recently. (It alarmed me at first. I’d thought his face just looked that way naturally.)

“She’s speaking to ancient Egyptian gods,” I said.

We stopped at a red light and he picked at a scraggly eyebrow pensively. “There’s something I have to tell you, George.”

“Yeah?”

“This exact timbre of cat-noise is in the Dover Frequency. That’s the frequency of sound at which the Dover Ghost is most likely to attack.”

“He loves cat yelling, huh?”

“No. He hates it. He’ll be real mad. He’ll stuff your organs in his ears to free himself from the racket--nobody’s survived it yet. I better stay over for dinner to protect you.”

I snorted. “Smooth. I hope you like Cheerios and/or ancient fridge mustard.”

“You forget who you’re talking to.”

He lowered his hand to the steering wheel again as the light turned, and his weird tribal circle tattoo peeked out of his sleeve, stretched by his thumb.

“Ya know, you never told me what that is,” I said, poking it. To my surprise he jerked his hand away, clearly a reflex. Even he looked surprised at himself.

“... You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” he said.

“Let me guess, the Dover Ghost also does hand tattoos.”

He grunted and karate chopped his turn signal a little aggressively.

Fine, I wouldn’t ask about the tattoo.

I gingerly adjusted the music volume, hoping _Don’t Stop Me Now_ might help reaffirm Zelda’s zest for life, but she just yelled louder. I turned it completely off.

“I think she prefers Freddie’s more existential works,” said Robert.

Mat waved from outside the Coffee Spoon as we passed, recognizing Robert’s ancient pickup, and then we were turning into the cul-de-sac. I was really looking forward to beer and breakfast cereal with Robert… until I noticed a jeep parked in Robert’s driveway. Val’s car was still here?

“Stop!” I said, before he could pass it.

The truck lurched and even Zelda fell silent for a moment at the surprise. We stuck there awkwardly at a bend of the circle.

“Wha?” said Robert.

“Is Val staying with you?” I asked, whirling on him.

“Oh. Yeah. Not the best idea, maybe, but she’s a shark about saving hotel money...”

“When’s she heading back to Brooklyn?” I thought she’d already gone...

His eyes veered to the side now, clearly catching up with where I was going. “... Tomorrow?”

“Robert! You should be hanging out with Val, not me!”

“It’s not like I’m avoiding her,” he said, rubbing at the back of his neck. “The weekend’s been… good. I mean, as good as it can be with us up in each other’s noses…”

I just waited.

He was reaching the hard part of word crafting, the emotional intimacy part. “I had stuff. You know. It was an emergency.”

My stern face had clearly been perfected on Amanda. He took one look at it and sighed.

“You seemed down,” he admitted finally.

“Oh.” I sagged, lowering my swords sheepishly. Well. That was… “I did?”

“You bought a cat.”

He had me there.

“I’m fine,” I insisted, a little white lie. “Robert, you don’t…” Now it was my turn to fumble with words. “You don’t owe me anything.”

He frowned. “That’s not what I meant...”

“ _Go_ , you cad. Val’s only going to be here a short time. I’ll be just up the drive, right?” I smiled gamely, and even Zelda shook her whole carrier with a particularly soulful screech.

“George…”

“I promise I won’t let the Dover Ghost whisk me away.”

His face was unreadable for a rather nerve-wracking moment. Then he smiled crookedly.

He reached a hand forward and did an awkward flip-floppy gesture, like he was aiming for my cheek but then thought better of it at the last second and instead landed on my shoulder.

“When in doubt: salt circle,” he said, squeezing lightly.

“I’ll do you one better and add pepper.”

x

Two hours later I was still laying on the floor of Amanda’s room, trying to coax Zelda out from under her bed.

Robert had helped bring in the cat supplies of course, but I kicked him out rather quickly and was paying the price for it. The moment I opened Zelda’s carrier, she bolted like black lightning down the hall. She was the fastest fat cat I’d ever seen.

I tried to give her space. But I also tried to give her a treat. And to set up her food and water bowls there in Amanda’s room so she could see them. I had tried many things.

But she was under the bed seemingly permanently, quiet now and barely visible in the shadows except for those yellow eyes watching me.

“I’m sorry,” I said, defeated. Then I got up, back popping, and set up her litter box nearby as well. We could move that out before Amanda came home again.

Out in our little living room I dipped between sofa and kitchen again, still waffling for something to do with myself.

I finally got Amanda’s text. **safe at hia**

I circled the living room looking down at my phone screen, my overly large dad thumb hovering over the overly small keys.

**George: Want to talk?  
** **Amanda: tired  
** **George: ok. Love you**

I tried not to picture her fighting tears in some communal dorm bathroom. 

**George: Goodnight!**

No answer, no typing ellipses. My arm felt heavy as I slid my phone into my back pocket.

I flopped onto the sofa, one leg coming up to the coffee table, nudging the succulents. The night outside the windows had some distant frogs chirping, but the noises were getting quieter as summer ebbed. The bugs were already gone.

Fall and winter were going to be tough. It seemed the older I got, the more cold affected me. And gray skies. My damn knees creaked.

I sighed, and then I realized my hand was casually resting on my thigh.

… I could masturbate.

That was a wild thought. The house was empty. It hadn’t been empty in years, so many years that idly thinking “I could masturbate” in glum moods had inched out of my brain permanently. Or almost permanently.

I idly cupped the front of my jeans, not really doing anything just sorta… prodding.

I had an empty house, and I also had the entire internet at my disposal. I could get really wild and… _watch pornography_?

No. Too much effort. And Zelda would judge my taste.

Instead I sifted through my brain for any good sexy fantasies. It felt kinda dusty in that corner of my imagination.

Quivering abs, perhaps? A good butt?

I should have known better, because of course my most recent experience of that ilk had been Robert kissing me.

Laying me back across his sofa. Santana’s _Evil Ways_ playing quietly. His lips hot and insistent. All I tasted was whiskey, overpowering. His hands under my shirt, still cold from our long ghost tour but quickly warming on my skin. He liked to _bite_. He managed to give me a hickey even in that short time, nipped too hard, miscalculated in desperation, a tiny smidge of purple under my chin for the next morning.

I pressed the heel of my palm against my crotch, but I also grimaced. Was it really fair to be thinking of Robert like that when he was basically in the middle of a mental breakdown then? Or when he looked at me with such soft trust and familiarity these days...

Maybe he’d like it.

Godammit.

I patted between my legs as if to chastise that general area and then moved to a different sitting position.

Maybe later, closer to bedtime, and (for god’s sake) with a different set of imagery.

I was just about ready to turn on the tv when the doorbell rang. It wasn’t that late, but still late enough that I was honestly perplexed as I got up to answer.

It was Joseph, which was terrifying. Had he been lured by my sins of the flesh?

“Howdy, neighbor,” he said, with cheerful irony. He was still in the same sweater, illuminated by the automatic lights framing my front door, and was holding a glass baking dish with tin foil over it. He looked tired, or maybe that was just the harsh lighting. “We had some leftovers and thought we could foist some on you. Lasagna.”

“Wow Joseph, you’re the only man I know who can host a barbecue then have the energy to make a lasagna the next day.”

“It’s from the grocery store but thanks for the confidence!”

I laughed and he handed the dish over. It was still lukewarm.

“You wanna come in or something?” I asked, gesturing vaguely behind me.

His eyes pinched. “Probably should head back home…” He looked like he really didn’t want to head back home.

“... I got a cat.”

“Really?”

I coaxed the poor guy inside.

In Amanda’s room, I went down on my complaining knees again to stick my head under the bed, but Zelda had seemingly vacated in my brief absence. She’d left behind a turd in the litter box though.

“Amanda’s all about new prog, huh?” Joseph asked, kindly examining the walls instead of my struggles to get back to my feet.

“She is?” I’d never been able to tell what genre her band posters were. I still didn’t have a good idea of what it was, given a name for it.

I was on my feet and all at once awkwardly close to Joseph. Had he been that close before?

“Sorry,” I said. My legs bumped Amanda’s bed as I took a step back.

“You’re a good father, George,” Joseph said, out of absolutely nowhere.

“Uh. Are you ok?”

He chuckled, looking really sad all of the sudden. After a moment, he said, “I was a little worried about you,” but I had a feeling he was evading something else.

Was I so pathetic that everybody could just tell I was sad by looking at me these days?

“You mean about this morning?” I asked.

“Yes. I just wanted you to know we’re thinking of you next door, and you’re always welcome.”

“Big ol’ happy family, right?”

Oh no. That was the exact wrong thing to say. I knew immediately because Joseph’s face crumpled.

“Joseph...”

“I should head back home.”

I opened my mouth when suddenly-- **BANG!**

A sound like a gunshot spiked through the room. Any polite comforts we might have had for each other died in our throats.

It had sounded like it came from Amanda’s closet. I approached the door carefully.

“Zelda?”

I pulled it open, and predictably it was full of old high school crap, but not as predictably a spidery conglomeration of clothes hangers came clanging out against my knees. It made me jump. Had those made the noise?

When my heart was back to normal, I stuck my head back in. Papers and old clothes. And also… a strange smell. Smokey and kind of… rotten? She didn’t leave food in here did she?

Then as I was about to close up, I almost stepped on a dead mouse.

It took some time for me to register what I was seeing. The mouse had been gored and tiny innards were spotted around the closet floor. It somehow didn’t look real.

Joseph put a hand on the small of my back and I almost jumped out of my skin.

“Must have been the cat then,” he said gravely, eyes instantly going to the mouse.

“I guess.” I couldn’t justify my weird unease. “Pretty gross, sorry. You probably just had dinner.”

“I’m alright.”

I went into the hall bathroom to get some toilet paper, and when I came back Joseph was simply standing by the open closet, his hands clasped behind him, looking around at Amanda’s posters pensively, like he was trying to glean as many details as possible.

I got down to clean up the mess, and only then did I realize the little blood bits weren’t guts. They were tinier mice. Unborn babies.

The mother and children both got eaten.

“Something wrong?” Joseph asked.

I hurriedly picked everything up in pinches of toilet paper. “Just gross is all.” He didn’t have to know the morbid details, right? He was already having a bad day.

I gave them a viking funeral at toilet, and it was on that somewhat dark note that Joseph took his leave.

I still didn’t know what to say to him.

“Take care of yourself, ok?” I said as we were at our impasse again on the porch.

Joseph smiled, all clean-cut handsomeness. “You too, George,” he said. “Take care of yourself and your daughter. You’re a lovely family.”

What could I even say to that?

I watched him get back to his own porch. Then I ducked inside and locked myself in for the night.

In the kitchen, I peeled back the tin foil to look into Joseph’s baking dish.

It was lasagna.

Don’t know what I was expecting.

x


	4. Chapter 4

Monday was shot day so I took a hot shower in the morning. I would never not hate needles, so I needed all the relaxation I could get.

Then I plopped onto the sofa in my boxers and the ghost tour t-shirt I’d conned into possession with Robert, accompanied by two one inch needles on the table, my uncomfortable bedfellows. My frenemies. The little bastards I’d sold my soul to for hair in unexpected places.

Somehow the overly long wait as my testosterone dripped into my syringe from its tiny bottle was one of the times when I missed Amanda the most. She was, what… thirteen when I started taking T? It was after her mom died. A lot of things suddenly became unbearable during that grief. In retrospect it should have been an obvious choice all along.

I knew Amanda had been scared by the whole thing, nervous about her new dad doing medical stuff to his body, and honestly I’d felt the same. But hey. It worked out. And I think Amanda understood quickly how much this helped me to keep going through… everything.

She’d always had a casual idea of gender from me and her mom, who were once the two butchest lesbians on the planet, at least until one finally figured out he was a bi dude. I’d identified pretty androgynously since college. In fact, when reuniting with Craig so recently I’d had to inform him sheepishly that I was leaning 100% “he” now. He took it chill, like always.

But the thing was, shot day had always been a day that Amanda would spoil me. It had become so commonplace from repetition that it wasn’t much of an event in itself but… I think she liked to celebrate. Monday was not-so-coincidentally father-daughter bad movie night.

Man, I really missed my kid.

I popped on a new needle head for my now full syringe, and then it was just a matter of getting my thigh ready and psyching myself up mentally before sticking it in. Easy. I mean, I hated it with every heebie jeebie my body could muster, but objectively it was easy.

Afterwards I dumped my leftover usable supplies back in the medicine bin, and then I went forth into the real trenches--Damien needed a high school reading list.

Zelda had been picking at her food, and she was looking pretty comfortable on Amanda’s bed when I walked in. Her eyes fixed on me and her big bushy tail swished.

“Hey, I’m not the murderer here,” I told her. Although how she’d managed to get into the closed closet to kill that mouse was beyond me…

I tried not to think too much about Joseph’s obvious funk last night. Or mouse gore. Instead I started sifting through the piles of unwanted papers Amanda had so artfully crammed into the closet corner.

Tests. Essays. Essay tests. I heard Zelda’s elegant heft thump to the floor behind me and looked up to find her crouched a few feet away, still eyeing me warily but obviously curious about the proceedings. I could hear her purring.

“I knew you weren’t too spicy.” I didn’t want to ruin it by petting her too forwardly, but she must have been my good luck charm because I found Mr. Vega’s AP English course soon after under her watchful vigil.

“ _Catcher In The Rye_? More like _Catch Him That Guy_ , amiright?”

I finally risked reaching for her, but she ran off into the hall.

Guess she didn’t like dad jokes.

x

 **Robert: i have an adventure for you  
** **Robert: tonight 6pm  
** **Robert: pick u up**

I squinted at my phone screen in the glare from the sun. I was on Damien’s porch, having slipped him Hugo’s reading list through his mail slot along with my most recent response in our neighbor penpals correspondence. It was a Damien thing.

**George: I will be there or be square.**

I felt a little guilty, like he was still trying to make me feel better. I had to buck up!

From Damien’s, I crossed straight to the Christiansens’ to return Joseph’s dish. Robert and Val’s cars were both gone from Robert’s driveway as I passed.

Chris answered the door. (Or was it Crish? Chrissy? Christ.)

“Hey can you bring this to your dad?” I asked, but he ignored me and just left the door open. “O… kay. Uh. Buddy?”

I gingerly stepped inside, and something unfathomable greeted me there in the living room. There were toys on the floor.

Joseph’s house got messy sometimes?

A teddy bear, some Jenga blocks, board games, books. A houseplant that probably didn’t belong on the sofa. My god, Joseph was human and had four kids.

The man in question ducked his head in from the kitchen. “George?” He had Christie perched on his arm, her pretty dress shoe feet dangling and her eyes red like she’d been crying. I’d never seen her look so… sweet.

“Sorry to intrude! I just… your dish…”

“Come on in.” Joseph smiled, giving Christie a little bounce that made her also smile, a small thing. “Could you put it in the sink? My arms are full of monster.”

She giggled and buried her face in his shoulder.

I followed him into the kitchen which, woah, was a disaster. It looked like they’d been making some sort of batter but it was mostly on the floor now.

“We had some problems,” he said.

“Oh, Amanda and I had plenty of those in our day.”

I put the dish in the sink, on top of some thoroughly spoiled spoons. He was bouncing Christie still, watching to make sure he didn’t step in batter as he shifted his feet. He was wearing socks.

I remembered how down he seemed last night but still so eager to help me... Maybe I ought to return the neighborly favor.

“You’ve got yourselves a Code 1 Baking Emergency,” I said in a very authoritative voice. “Do you need an extra hand?”

Joseph’s smile hitched higher.

Mary was out, he explained, which had left him chasing children since some ungodly hour in the morning. He plopped Christie down and left her with me while he went to get the mop.

“Did you witness this massacre?” I asked her, gazing upon the goopy floor.

She twirled her thumbs into the fabric of her dress but smiled shyly.

“Don’t worry. The kingdom of Brownie Town will accept tribue in the form of cookies as well.”

As Joseph mopped, he instructed me in how to start up some cookies, which he’d chosen because they were “Christie’s specialty”. She stood on a little stool and silently helped with the parts that were clearly her favorite--cracking the eggs, adding the chocolate chips. With me handling this distraction, Joseph was able to clean up the mess entirely in a matter of minutes (what could have been hours on full dad time). He shot me a wink as he brought the trash and mop out of the room.

Christie had warmed up to me, and hummed to herself as I reread the handwritten cookie instructions.

“Now we stir?” I asked her.

“Mmhm.”

I went at the thick dough with a wooden spoon, and she watched with a cute little smile on her face. It would have been appropriately Christiansen picturesque, except that a large housefly kept buzzing overhead, getting obnoxiously close to my ear so I had to brush it away. It bumped itself against the window a few times too, with a grossly loud smack.

“You don’t mind bugs?” I asked her.

“Just not in my cookies,” she said. It was the first full thing she’d said to me, spoken softly but seriously.

**BANG!**

I jumped and spun around. I could have sworn I’d just heard a sharp sound, but Christie hadn’t even flinched. I turned to her to laugh off my weird reaction to apparently nothing, and stopped. She looked… different.

Her smile was gone and her eyes had gone dull, more like the Christie I was used to seeing. She stared ahead impassively.

“Are you okay?” I asked her, and she ignored me, climbing down from her stool.

Joseph returned and she went to his leg.

“Daddy. I’m hungry. I’m so hungry…”

“Well honey, there’ll be cookies soon, right? Why don’t you go play with Christian for awhile?”

She walked off like a little zombie, without saying goodbye, and Joseph smiled at me like this was the most normal thing in the universe.

“How’s it coming, George?” he asked. “You really saved my ass.”

It was always charming to hear him actually swear casually. “I had to pay off that lasagna somehow,” I said, trying not to be too weirded out by his kids’ games.

I went back to stirring and realized that the buzzing had stopped. Moments later, I saw the fly lying dead in the middle of the counter, like it had just fallen right from the air. What the hell?

Under the cookie smell I caught a whiff of something else… smokey… rotten… familiar?

Joseph stepped up behind me, flush against my back, and guided my forearm with his hand. My face heated up.

“You’ll have to stir it a bit more aggressively,” he said, his tone kind and almost apologetic.

I let him move my arm around, until I’d picked up the more grueling pace myself. His hands went up to my shoulders instead, and I could smell the freshness of the detergent in his shirt. Whatever scent I’d caught before that was gone. I must have imagined it.

He stood there a damn long time, and I slowly began to realize it was kinda nice? A solid warm presence against my back. His handsome face smiling down at my work over my shoulder.

Joseph was a nice guy.

Was he coming onto me?

What about Mary?

… What about Robert?

“Woah there, tiger, you don’t have to stir _that_ fast.”

I stopped, realizing all at once I’d sent some dough flying onto the counter.

“... Oops.”

But Joseph was laughing magnanimously.

We finished dough without mishap, but perhaps with a few too many lingering touches, too many significant looks, and some of the sadness from last night pinching the corners of Joseph’s eyes again. My brain was spinning around like it was on a tilt-a-whirl, stuck somewhere exactly in between caveman fight or flight. By the time I left, with a ziploc baggie of fresh chocolate chip cookies, I was sure Joseph was just as unfaithful as Mary in their marriage. I had no idea what that meant, whether that was good or bad.

For some reason, Christie had never returned either. It was like my new little friend disappeared right off the face of the earth for the rest of the morning.

x

That night, with the windows of Robert’s truck rolled down (manually, of course) and the cool air tossing our hair around, Robert drove me out into the middle of nowhere. He smoked a cigarette, and somehow managed to belt out a song on the radio with it still pinched between his teeth. He sounded like a really bad ventriloquist. I sang too. It was great.

He wouldn’t tell me where we were going until we got there. It suddenly sprouted out of the swaths of farmland like it had been plopped there by aliens: a drive-in movie theater. I had no idea such a thing was around here.

Apparently I wasn’t the only one who didn’t know about it, because there weren’t that many cars. Robert forked out some cash to the ticket seller looking bored at the entrance to the lawn, which was circled on all other sides by traffic cones and paraphernalia to keep people contained. One section of the makeshift wall was all old tires. This was clearly a down to earth establishment.

Once inside, Robert parked the truck in the back, facing the giant projector screen hung up against what looked like the side of a house. Another employee, looking like he could be the ticket seller’s brother, was walking between the cars selling refreshments, but Robert was nothing if not prepared. He told me to open the glove compartment and voila. A bag of white cheddar popcorn and a handful of mini whiskey flasks, the kind you buy at the convenience store counter.

Seemed like a pretty gross flavor combination, but I wasn’t complaining.

I handed the spoils over to Robert who, to my surprise, exited the car. He jerked his head in a _follow me, loser_ motion.

He knocked down the rear panel of the truck bed with his knee and climbed aboard. Then kept climbing. He brought me up to plumb sit on top of the car, our butts uncomfortably skirting the sunroof. But I had to admit, this was certainly the best view of the screen.

“To you,” he toasted. “My partner in crime.”

“To both of us, and also the crimes.”

We threw back our first little whiskeys.

The movie started.

It was an older film and certainly not the mood I’d been expecting. The shots were gloomy and introspective right from the get-go, the sort of slow panning of dark landscapes that made me feel like I really did have zero idea what cinematography meant. The title was _La Terra Trema_ \--The Earth Trembles. It had subtitles.

“What language is this?” I asked Robert.

“Sicilian.”

The hell sort of drive-in was this? No, I already knew the answer to that. It was the Robert kind.

I couldn’t follow the story much (it was pretty boring), but it seemed generally depressing, about a family falling apart and also class oppression. But Robert was in an excellent mood. He even talked about Val unprompted.

“Her girlfriend’s name is Bianca,” he said. “They live together. It’s real serious, but Val’s happy about it.”

He seemed a little stunned, upbeat but stuffing a handful of popcorn in his mouth like it was a prerecorded motion. It made me sad that Bianca was the most important person in Val’s life and Robert knew almost nothing about her. With the physical distance between me and Amanda, would I be experiencing such big unknowns soon as well?

But he was tentatively, warmly _happy_. God, it was good to see him like this.

“You’re doing it,” I told him.

He chuckled, lowering his face, and bumped my elbow reaching for more of the popcorn between us. “Not dead yet,” he said, self-deprecatingly.

I plucked out some of the popcorn about to fall between his fingers. “I’m proud of you,” I said, and the honesty of it made my chest ache.

He gazed sheepishly down at his crossed legs.

The movie filled in our typical long silences. Our knees knocked painfully as we shifted trying to keep our butts from falling asleep. I was quietly impressed that Robert only had one shot. I was starting to wonder if I was falling in love with this man. This little spark of his happiness somehow made the world feel right. I just wanted this to keep going forever, wanted him to get everything he deserved.

Yet also a more selfish part of me just as earnestly wanted to witness it. To sit here watching these private popcorn smiles of his.

He’d wound up meaning so much to me. It… hurt.

“There’s something I’ve wanted to ask you,” I said.

“Yeah?” Robert’s profile was muted in the dark, his high cheekbones, his round nose.

“What’s going on with Mary and Joseph?”

He frowned immediately, which wasn’t a surprise considering his usual attitude toward Joseph. “Something bring this on?”

I remembered the heat of Joseph’s chest pressed up against my back in his kitchen. I couldn’t bring myself to tell Robert that part.

“Well, Mary obviously has her… thing,” I said. “And… I don’t know. They both seem really unhappy.”

“They are,” said Robert cryptically.

“Is there really nothing we can do but watch?”

There was a quiet intensity in his eyes, staring down the movie screen darkly. “Leave it alone, George,” he said with finality. “There’s a lot going on there. A lot of things you don’t know. And probably don’t want to know.”

“Well, they’re my friends,” I argued.

He glanced at me out of the corner of his eye, but stayed closed up. “Leave it alone,” he said again, but more gently. “Just trust me on this one.”

I started opening the last little whiskey with altogether too much irritation and he knocked me with his knee on purpose in apology.

“It’s not my story to tell,” he said.

“It’s fine.”

But truth be told, I didn’t like being locked out of things.

He tried to explain the movie’s ending to me while it was still happening, and it all went completely over my head, especially since I couldn’t tell how much bullshit he was feeding me in real time. To my surprise, the cars all started honking when the screen went blank.

“Encore!” Robert cupped his mouth and hollered. Oh boy. I didn’t know how much more depressing movies I could handle tonight.

But the late-night movie apparently had different genre expectations. It was a cheesy old horror movie called _The Tingler_ with Vincent Price, and a lot more cars showed up for this one. It was the worst thing I’d ever watched and I loved it completely.

Robert wiggled his fingers at me menacingly whenever the epitomal Tingler would appear on screen, and I laughed and lightly headbutted him. I wound up resting my head there on his shoulder, and he even put an arm around me, under the guise of pretending to be the Tingler crawling up my back.

We could lie to ourselves like this, convince ourselves this was just what friends did. Or maybe Robert didn’t have to. Maybe I was the only one fooling myself.

My giddiness got turned around in my stomach the more I tried to temper it, until it left a bad taste at the back of my throat, even as my cheek was warm against the soft leather of his collar. Was I taking too much?

It hurt again. My chest hurt, but also it traveled all the way down my arms, to the palms of my hands, until everything just damn hurt.

Why couldn’t I be the good friend Robert needed? It was simple enough. Why did my head have to get in the way?

His hand was on my opposite hip, lazy against the hem of our ghost hunting t-shirt, and entirely unsuspecting of my selfishness.

I wanted to be loved so much.

x


	5. Chapter 5

I kept trying to take pictures of Zelda to send to Amanda, but my phone clumsiness combined with Zelda’s tendency to run away whenever I looked at her purposefully enough just made every picture a blurry black smudge.

 **Amanda: u sure thats not bigfoot, daderino?**  
**George: The truth is out there Panda. And also in here. In your room.**

As days turned into weeks that she’d been gone again, we started to go back to real conversations, which did my dad heart good. But it still seemed like whenever I suggested a phonecall, she was busy with something else. I hoped she was actually busy and not just avoiding emotions.

Joking off every negative feeling… Where’d she get that from, hmm? Not my greatest legacy.

Everything else was fairly normal. Work. The weather gradually getting colder, chill breezes coming in off the bay. I saw Robert often, of course, and one day as he slouched rakishly across my living room sofa he admitted to me that he was on medication. He didn’t say what for, or rather he just waved a hand and mumbled “brain business,” but he was seeing a counselor as well. He was clearly too embarrassed to go into more details and I had a feeling I was the only person he planned to tell about this. But that was a huge privilege, wasn’t it?

I was terrified of ruining this for him… so I did the same as Amanda, jokes and a smile and encouragement even as my heart kept doing complicated acrobatics in my throat.

As if to save me from the vortex of my own routine, I got a letter from Damien near the start of October. It was four whole pages describing in intricate detail all the discussions he’d been having with Hugo about _The Picture of Dorian Gray_ , such as how it pertained to morality in an existence mitigated by certain death. He sounded like a giddy teenager who also had an incredibly big vocabulary.

He invited me to tea too, so that’s where I wound up, in Damien’s ornate parlor, surrounded by oil paintings and skulls and one very apt oil painting of a skull.

He lifted his teacup, looking every bit a confident and regal goth. “Hugo brought me something yesterday,” he said, and then took a long sip for dramatic effect. He was downright smirking.

He had me rapt, but Mary was also there for the afternoon and she was even more rapt. She wouldn’t touch the tea, but she’d been eating finger sandwiches like it was her job.

“You’re killing me, Dames.”

He lowered his teacup again with the tiniest clink. “A bouquet,” he said.

“Gross,” said Mary appreciatively.

“What kind of bouquet?” I asked, because I had no clue what flowers meant but I knew Damien did and he must have trained our neighbor well.

“It had a number of inclusions…” said Damien. “Night-blooming Cereus. A rare cactus flower that, as the name suggests, opens fully under the moonlight. _Transient beauty._ Very on-point, since we’ve been having such long discussions about death.”

“That’s… normal,” I said, trying to smile as sincerely as possible.

“Clematis,” Damien continued. “A small purple flower, complementing the white nicely. _Mental beauty. Art._ ”

“He likes your brain,” said Mary. Damien looked very pleased indeed.

“And finally, hemp.”

“... Hemp?”

“I think Ernest snuck that in, but it means _Fate_ and I agree.”

Mary and I nodded sagely, and we allowed Damien a moment to gleam with pride. It was interrupted by the front door slamming and Lucien clomping in with his doc martins and backpack.

“Nerd sighting!” Mary crowed.

“Love you too, Auntie,” Lucien said dryly and disappeared into his room.

“Excuse me for just a moment,” said Damien, still utterly cheerful. He took a lovely little plate and organized some of the grapes and sandwiches on it, then poured a cup of tea and took both over to Lucien’s room. Seemingly a bold move from an outsider’s perspective, but he was allowed inside easily.

That left me alone with Mary, who was picking bread bits out of her sweater.

I didn’t know what to say to her… I’d slowly made my way into her good books, I knew that, but I’d also been exchanging very frequent text messages with her husband this past month.

It just sort of… happened.

Joseph was really nice, and clearly in desperate need of a good friend. I kept inviting him over, giving him some space to get away from his family, with the hope that maybe if I just showed zero romantic interest it would be fine. But it was like Robert in reverse. Were the touches and laughs too friendly? Was I giving the wrong idea?

I needed to flatout tell him I didn’t want that, but every time I had an opportunity to, I wound up chickening out.

I didn’t want to lose our weird little friendship…

Did Mary know? Was she quiet right now because she was ignoring me, or was she really just a fan of Damien’s sandwich craftsmanship?

“You look nice today,” I tried.

It was somewhat true, her makeup was more controlled than usual and her nails had a new swath of glistening black paint. She arched her eyebrows.

“You comin’ onto me, sailor?”

“N-no! Oh god, no, I--”

She threw her head back and laughed, a downright cackle. “Relax,” she said. “Weirdo.”

Ok. We were cool. Good.

Damien returned, as did his glowing aura of gothly happiness.

“Might I lure you both into my garden?” he asked, pressing his fingers to his cravat in a gentlemanly fashion. “I would love your opinions as I compose a bouquet in response.”

The rest of the afternoon, Mary and I kept suggesting flowers because they were pretty, but apparently they all meant mortal enemy or something. So really, Damien had this covered on his own.

x

The next day I got another letter, this one from the Christiansen household. The stationary was gorgeous, a crisp pink envelope with raised edges in a swirling floral design. It had to be from Joseph.

I left it sitting ominously on my kitchen counter for almost the whole day. I kept thinking about Joseph jostling my shoulder as we watched The Game, his boisterous laugh, but how his warm hand stayed there for too long, his thumb brushing my skin at the base of my collar.

Finally I opened it, only to find that it was a nice yet generic invitation to a birthday party for Mary.

Super safe. Right?

The party was that weekend at a rentable space on the marina, a large convention room with deep brown mahogany in the walls and a huge portico open onto a perfect view of the bay, letting in sweet sea breeze. When I arrived I wound up gawking at how ritzy the whole thing was. It was at night so the rich darkness and quiet engulfed us serenely, yet the space was lit by warm orange lights and alive with upbeat music and conversation. There were free drinks at a gorgeously decorated bar, all varieties of tasty cocktails complete with umbrellas and maraschino cherries, and little crystal embellishments along the ceiling lights reflected tiny rainbows below.

It must have been really expensive.

There was also an alarming number of people. The neighborhood was there of course, but this was a far cry from our cozy backyard barbecues. There were a ton of couples from church functions, varying in age and austerity, and some particularly well-dressed patrons that must have been from the higher society of Maple Bay. It was like every adult the Christiansens had ever met was crammed in this room.

I had a tiny wrapped gift for Mary (it was a wine opener but shaped like a big mouth, which I thought would make her laugh). I spent a crazy amount of time looking for a gift table but… there was none. Apart from a pristine cake, it was hard to tell this was a birthday party at all, especially one for Mary. This didn’t seem like her speed.

Joseph was making the rounds, sharing a hearty laugh with Brian but flitting away quickly, spreading his smile throughout the whole room with keen strategy.

Mary, however, was nowhere to be seen.

I spotted Robert leaning against a column of the portico with a fruity drink in hand, facing away from the party out at the dark ocean below and its array of twinkling lights. I went to him automatically, like always. My legs just had a knack for going Robertward, but also he was comfortingly unfancy.

“Is this really a birthday?” I asked slowly. His eyes went from my face down to the little present in my oh-so awkward hands, and he burst out laughing.

“Mary hasn’t attended her birthday party in four years,” he explained. “She’ll appreciate the gift though. After she laughs at you.”

“Is she... ok?”

“She’ll have a worse hangover than usual tomorrow but she’s a tough girl.” It was one of his very sad jokes, the gallows humor kind, but with fondness.

I didn’t like that answer, though.

He traded me his half-finished drink for the gift and slipped the package into the back pocket of his jeans. “I’ll see her tomorrow,” he said, some melancholy meaning hanging in the words. “I’ll make sure this gets to her.” He nodded at the drink. “Piña colada.”

I took a sip, maneuvering past the little yellow umbrella.

“Woah that’s some rum.”

“Only way to make a piña colada, my friend.”

I wondered if I should tell him about Joseph. He’d already told me to leave it alone, but… well, it wouldn’t leave _me_ alone. It felt weirdly like I was lying to him if I didn’t say something.

But right now he was smiling, small and content. He looked relieved to see me too.

“Vampire and teacher at three o’clock,” he said.

I had no idea what direction that meant but I followed his eyes and sure enough Damien and Hugo were glued to the hip across the room, visible beyond the shifting bodies of the few souls who were braving the dance floor. Despite all the wild confidence of Damien’s previous descriptions of their relationship, they weren’t talking and instead kept shooting each other very nervous smiles.

This was the unmistakable awkward silence of two nerds suddenly tasked with social interactions outside their immediate sphere. Even worse: two nerds who wanted to impress each other and were also eyeing the dance floor intermittently. Jimmy Buffet was playing, which was not exactly to Damien and Hugo’s tastes. This was bad.

“Come in, Eagle One,” I said to Robert. “Immediate airdrop of a slow dance requested. Over.”

He turned to me, looking briefly smitten. “Read you loud and clear, Red Cobra.” Oh, that was cool. “This mission requires DJ interrogation. We might not make it out alive.”

“Whatever happens… It was good fighting at your side, brother.”

“I’m ready to die.”

We made a beeline for the DJ in his hawaiian shirt and cheap plastic sunglasses. He didn’t exactly look as pricey as the rest of the party favors.

“What’ll it take to get you to play something romantic?” I asked him conspiratorially, while Robert put on his best stoic mystery man face, arms folded.

“Uhh…” The DJ fumbled around like his hands were made of bologna. His face was very red.

“... Are you drunk?”

“Hey man, I’ve had a rough day.”

Robert squinted at him. “Why do you look familiar?”

The DJ squinted back. “Why do _you_ look familiar?”

“Just something nice and relaxed, please?” I asked. “Maybe a little soulful? Or… antique? You don’t have classical music, do you?”

“I got the perfect thing,” the DJ slurred and knocked over a maraca (why did he have that?) as he changed tracks.

He started playing _Cheeseburger in Paradise_.

“That’s just more Jimmy Buffet!” I hissed.

But then suddenly Robert grabbed my arm and whirled me around to look back across the room. Damien was saying something to Hugo with an incredibly noble expression. Was he…?

He offered a hand. Hugo was blushing.

Hugo accepted the hand and let Damien lead him out onto the dance floor.

Then right there, amidst the entire cul-de-sac and various facets of the Maple Bay Christian scene, Damien led Hugo in an expertly urbane waltz.

The music didn’t matter.

With one hand pressed firmly against the back of Hugo’s sweater vest, Damien twirled his damsel elegantly across the floor. Hugo stumbled before adjusting to the steps, and they both found a beat of their own, entirely separate from the tropical guitar twanging from the DJ speakers.

Their faces were close but not too close, gentlemanly to the extreme, and they turned and stepped, turned and stepped, fingers interlocked, gazing at each other seriously.

Damien was so smooth!

Jimmy wheezed on: _Cheeseburger in paradiiiiise! Medium rare with mustard’d be nice, heaven on earth with an onion slice, I’m just a cheeseburger in paradise!_

Damien dipped Hugo. Actually dipped him, and Hugo looked like he’d seen god.

Everybody clapped, most of the onlookers confused but still enjoying the show.

This would surely go down in neighborhood history, and the wingmen weren’t even needed.

x

I spent most of the night with Robert avoiding people, unless they were confirmed cul-de-sac dads. His allergy to small talk made him an expert at evasive party maneuvers and generally exuding Don’t Talk To Me vibes. I hid under the edge of his antisocial epicenter graciously.

He looked nice tonight. For once he wasn’t in his leather jacket, instead opting for a light black sweater that hung loosely from his shoulders. The collar was low of course, just enough for the hair of his chest to be barely visible, because Robert wouldn’t quite look like Robert otherwise. The orange of the lights brought out the warmth in the color of his eyes. They were very dark most of the time, almost black, but I could see more of the brown here now, framed by surprisingly long lashes.

We shared the rest of the piña colada, passing it back and forth comfortably.

It was enough to make me feel nice and toasty, because really there was too much rum in there.

Robert looked the same, languid and more smiley than usual. He played at the fingers of my free hand as we sat at the edge of the party, me finishing off the drink and telling a story with some dumb punchline as he paid altogether too much attention to my words. Did he expect this to be leading to something more worthwhile than a dad joke? Because he was sorely mistaken.

He moved my hand and fingers into a half fist and I didn’t know what the hell he was doing until he engaged me in an impromptu thumb war. His thumb was inhumanly crafty so I had to cheat by leveraging my wrist and even then it was a brutal battle with absolutely no mercy.

He won but I refused to acknowledge this.

“Want something?” he asked, his face close.

My heart did an enormous belly flop before I realized he was moving to get up and head to the bar. He was asking if I wanted a drink or food. Right. Not something else, because that would be weird and we weren’t doing that.

My heart went to hide at the back of my stomach in shame.

“I think I’ll go for a quick walk around,” I said. “See if any of the dads need rescuing.”

Robert nodded wisely at this and we parted.

Why’d I have to feel so damn wobbly and sad about that?

I circled the room trying to find a bathroom, just so I could blush stupidly somewhere less crowded, but the bathroom instead had loud laughter coming from it and that was the opposite of what I wanted. There was a small hallway nearby that only went to a utility closet but it was at least secluded so I ducked in and leaned my back against the wall.

The party was still loud around the corner, but the lights were dimmer here and I could breathe. I closed my eyes and tried to get my heart to stop squeezing so tightly.

“... George?” A soft voice.

It was Joseph, in a white turtleneck.

This would have been normal enough, except that he’d come from the direction of the utility closet, not the party.

Looked like I wasn’t the only one hiding.

“Great party!” I said reflexively. A smile to cover things up, like always.

He wasn’t smiling though. The relative darkness sank into the shadows under his eyes, the blankness of his expression. He didn’t look good at all.

“Talk to me,” I said gently.

He pressed his back to the wall beside me with a long sigh.

“I don’t know what else to do,” he said, breath hitching, but then he laughed stutteringly, because he was the same as me like that. “I just… don’t know. Maybe it’s not even worth trying anymore.”

“Want me to get you a drink?” I asked, feeling so useless under this weight.

“No…”

“Want me to--”

All at once he turned himself over me, so he was flush to my chest, and kissed me.

Oh no.

His lips were warm and earnest. My hands came up to his chest to push back, but _his_ hands were clutched tightly in the open collar of my shirt pulling me closer. His knuckles dug into my neck painfully.

The kiss went deeper, pressing my lips open.

“Joseph--” I said quickly against his face when he came up for air. “Stop, we can’t--” But his mouth smothered mine again.

It was rough and needy and cloyingly warm, his body pressed up against me.

I couldn’t deny the heat in my gut, but everything else in me just felt sick.

Did I want this? I was… kissing him back now. So tentative… Did some tiny part of me like this feeling, of being wanted?

_This is wrong this is wrong this is wrong this is wrong--_

I pulled back sharp enough that my head smacked the wall and stung. “This is--” I got out, but I could tell by the pain on Joseph’s face that he already knew.

He finally didn’t press forward again, but his hands remained coiled in my shirt.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’ve… misread things.”

I swallowed, still trying to catch my breath after such thorough kissing.

“Uh,” I said. “I uh. I have to go.”

Coward.

I had to take his wrists and physically extricate him from my collar. Then I was running with my tail between my legs back to the party and the cover of other people.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck--

I turned the corner at light speed... and walked directly into Robert.

Every single atom in my body froze.

He also froze, his easy posture stiffening like a flinch.

More fast-paced music was playing, and people were laughing and chattering, but all I could do was stare at Robert as he stared at me, our eyes locked for a long time.

He knew I’d kissed someone. It was plain in the red of my lips and my rumpled collar.

It was plain in the look on Robert’s face.

I opened my mouth, trying for an apology, a plea, anything, but every word just got choked up and stuck in my throat, and all I could do was stand there gaping like a dumb fish.

He turned and walked away.

x

I almost went home right then, but I couldn’t even will myself to the parking lot without a drink. I just... needed a goddamn drink.

All they had were fancy fruity things. I got a strawberry daiquiri, almost breaking down into manic laughter at how utterly stupid that was.

Damien twirled over to me, completely ignorant of my incoming panic attack. He was smiling as he ordered two drinks--one for him, and of course one for his esteemed date.

“My dear friend, I must thank you,” he said to me, laying a hand on my back, and god, that shouldn’t have felt so good. I was accepting comfort where it wasn’t even offered properly. Pathetic. “I’m having the most magical evening,” he continued. “This whole month… I feel so alive. I can’t believe I was worried over something so lovely. It’s wonderful to be… wanted.”

I had no idea what my face looked like but it must’ve been pretty bad because his radiant smile faltered with concern. The hand on my back _was_ comfort now.

“George. Are you--?”

“I’m great!” I beamed and ordered a second daiquiri, because I had two hands. I was quick on my way to getting wasted.

He stayed at my side while I dunked boozy fruit smoothies down my throat, until he finally seemed to realize I was a master of not accepting help. I was the world’s most powerful idiot. Talking through problems? Never! I couldn’t even talk to my own daughter any more, didn’t you know?

He patted me one last time, and his fingers lingered as he pulled away to drift back to Hugo across the room.

Damien wasn’t the only one who checked up on me. Mat and Craig both dropped by as I was burning my way through cocktails with increasing sloppiness. Mat tried to wiggle some advice into our stilted conversation but seemed overwhelmed by these tumultuous social waters and wound up running for the hills.  Craig teased that these drinks had a lot of calories in them, but he looked really worried. Why’d my friends have to be so damn _nice_ when I deserved it the least?

Robert was avoiding me. He always seemed to be on the exact opposite side of the room.

But eventually I had enough drinks that I lost the capacity to notice.

As the night wound down into the sleepy midnight hours of past adult bedtime, I wound up sitting on the floor in the portico with a nest of my assorted glasses, watching the boats bobbing down in the water. I’d had enough rum and sugar that I was doing _great _,__ thank you very much. I felt awesome.

My head lolled against a column and I smiled dizzily at everybody who passed me. The socialites seemed kinda wary, but my neighbors were so sweet! Brian offered to help me up but no sir. I wouldn’t let him one-up me at this whole standing business!

Plus I was nursing a really good… something. Another drink. I had to finish it, it was my mission.

I was a weird mixture of cold from ice and warm from drunkenness. What time was it? I wasn’t drinking this very fast.

Then finally, somebody plucked the drink out of my hand and placed it on the floor. I looked up.

It was Robert, with a serious face.

I beamed. I loved Robert! God, I was drunk.

“Let me drive you home,” he said quietly.

“I can drive!” I definitely couldn’t drive.

He grabbed me under the arms with surprising gentleness and hoisted me to my feet. I swayed and nosedived into his chest.

“Robert--Bobert--I can walk awesome.” If the floor would just stop moving, I’d be good. “I’m a pro. They called me Walking McGee back in the army.”

He wasn’t laughing.

I pouted as he led me outside.

The night was chilly and salty and lovely as he dragged me to his red pickup and gave me a step up into the passenger's seat. I giggled uncontrollably to myself as he circled around to the driver’s side.

“Robert!” I said when he opened the door, because hey there he was, what a reveal. “Robert, Robert. I feel awesome. Are you drunk? Let’s get drunk.” I didn’t have anything else to say really, slouched down in my seat.

“Seatbelt,” he murmured.

Whoops. I fumbled around like a doofus trying to put on my seatbelt, until Robert finally leaned over to help, maneuvering awkwardly in my space.

“You take good care of me,” I mumbled, once I was all strapped in. He didn’t say anything.

I leaned my head against the window, and we drove away, slow and quiet. The radio played softly, and the cool of the glass against my temple felt nice, even as the car’s vibrations jangled my brains.

We didn’t talk. I was comfy, though! I was warm and cozy. I was with my favorite person, Robert. I was super duper drunk.

Robert scrubbed a hand down his face with a weird sound at the back of his throat, and I let my eyes close, the car rocking me gently.

I fell asleep.

x

When I woke up, I was in my own bed, fully clothed with the top blanket pulled over me, my shoes laid carefully by the bedroom door. It was morning, or maybe afternoon, and my hangover shot my brain full of the reality of the night before.

I rolled over and just… cried.

x


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I used up my entire lifetime allotment of italics and bold in this chapter. A moment of silence for their sacrifice.

For the first time ever, Zelda came into my room.

Crying like a teenager just made my hangover even worse in my sinuses, and I could barely open my eyes beyond a squint to witness her standing in the doorway.

“You have food already,” I grumbled at her.

She stood there for a long time, then very gingerly padded her way inside, her bushy tail swinging above her. She stopped to stand again a few feet from the bed, looking right at me.

“What?”

Her pupils were really thin in the light from the window, making her yellow eyes even more piercing.

My arm was hanging off the bed, and after a moment I slowly stretched it out towards her. Without missing a beat, she stepped up to close the distance between us and rubbed her face against my hand.

She let me pet her, also for the first time ever, with the clicky rumbles of purrs emanating from her fluffy girth.

“Thanks,” I said, and she finally got me out of bed.

x

It was the middle of the afternoon, which I was much too old for, ugh. I popped some Tylenol and scoured the refrigerator for hangover cures. I didn’t think I could physically stomach pickle juice after that many fruity drinks. I didn’t want to taste anything sweet or even moderately flavorful ever again.

Bread? I ate some bread.

Zelda was following me from a distance, sitting in doorways to the rooms I foggily inhabited.

I drifted toward the sofa to waste the rest of the day marathoning History Channel specials, but my feet took me to the door instead.

I needed to talk to Robert.

He meant too much to me for this…

I slipped on some dad sandals and went out, still in the same rumpled outfit as last night.

The sun was personally attacking my eyes, but I started toward Robert’s house anyway, walking very fast past the Christiansen’s with my hands deep in my pockets.

To my surprise, Robert was actually in his yard. He was watering the tiny garden that bordered his lawn on Damien’s side, which had only an eclectic smattering of plants yet somehow they had endured Robert’s care better than Robert himself probably did. He was in sweatpants, low on his hips, and a t-shirt that looked like it was for a university except the letters were too peeled to read. Betsy was running around in circles behind him, divebombing the grass and being generally adorable and dumb.

Robert looked up as I walked up the lawn, then back down at his garden hose, posture resigned like he’d been expecting me. Betsy yipped and hopped in greeting, innocently unaware of the tension between her two humans.

I stopped a step away from Robert and looked at his plants.

God. I’d been such a drunken mess…

But worse, I knew I’d hurt him. There were so many things going on… but most importantly he’d been hurt and I needed him to know how that was always the last thing I wanted.

I had to apologize. But how? I couldn’t even open my mouth because that would mean I’d have to start talking and I had no words, no idea where to begin.

“George, I’m sorry,” said Robert.

What?

He was staring down at his own hand gripping the hose.

“I don’t have some claim over you.” His words came out stilted but I could tell by his face that he was really trying. “I shouldn’t have acted like I did. You’re allowed to… look other places. You don’t have to wait for me.”

This was all wrong…

“You deserve the best for yourself,” he finished, with utter stalwartness.

“No… Robert…” I reached toward him but pulled back again all in one awful awkward motion. He looked up. “It wasn’t the right thing for me to do,” I said. “Especially with how complicated everything is with Joseph’s own situation--”

I stopped right there because all at once Robert’s face had changed completely.

“Joseph?” he repeated. The careful vulnerability had wiped clean and he looked…

He looked like I’d slapped him.

And like he was mad about it.

“It was all wrong, I’m--” but he stopped me by holding up a hand.

“Stay away from Joseph,” he said icily. “If I’d known it was that bastard…” He spat out the swear and shook his head.

“He’s having a really hard time, Rob. It’s not all his fault.”

“You’re saying it’s your fault then?” He glared at me challengingly.

Oh no. “I’m saying he’s my friend…”

“He isn’t.”

“I can’t know what’s wrong with him if you never tell me!” My arms rose and fell helplessly.

“Like how you never tell me when something’s wrong with you?”

“Robert, please--”

“No. I can tell you right now, Joseph isn’t your friend and he’s only going to play with you or worse. He’s dangerous.”

“How can you say that?”

“Oh, do I owe him something?”

“You were friends once weren’t you?”

“Like how you’re friends with Mary so you’ll mack on her husband?”

Robert was the worst sort of person to have an argument with. He was too quick with words. I couldn’t keep up at all.

“I-- It was wrong, I’m not going to--”

“Joseph’s going to.”

“Well, I’m not!”

There was a horrible fraught silence between us, as we both stared down at our feet. My heart was pounding in my throat. Neither of us had raised our voices, but Betsy was whining worriedly a few steps away…

“Mary really liked your present,” Robert said cruelly.

“You’re-!” I slapped my arms against my sides, every word in the dictionary falling out of my head and my tongue stuck in my mouth. Dammit, don’t cry, you idiot. “You’re awful,” I croaked. “You’re fucking awful.”

His jaw tensed and he tossed the still-running hose onto the lawn. Then he turned his back on me and marched to the door, scooping up Betsy in one hand along the way. She barked once in distress, then they were both inside, the screen door jangling behind them.

“Fine! Drown your stupid grass!” I shouted after him.

God, was this the sort of person I was?

I walked so fast going home I nearly tripped over my damn self on the pavement.

Everything was wrong.

x

The History Channel was my only friend today, I’d decided. Zelda too maybe, except even she seemed to have gotten bored of my angst, trotting off to do cat business elsewhere in the house. I stewed on the sofa eating dry cereal out of the box to complete my loser chic.

I realized belatedly that my phone had been out of battery for ages. Only the prospect of missing an important Amanda text got me up off my sorry ass for the charger. The instant I plugged it in, my phone erupted with missed messages.

I’d gotten two calls from Joseph.

Jesus Christ. Please don’t.

But as if beckoned by the lord’s name in vain my phone rang again. Joseph. Goddammit.

If it was important enough for three phone calls I couldn’t just ignore it… He might be in trouble. I held the phone to my ear and dawdled in the silence for a moment.

“Hey,” I said.

“Hey,” said Joseph. He was back to sounding genial and neighborly, but with a pointedly uncomfortable edge. “Uh… Sorry to bother you, but… I got a call from the marina, you know, where I rented space for Mary’s party and, uh… There’s been complaints that your car is still parked there.”

Oh. I was so busy being depressed I hadn’t even noticed the emptiness of my own driveway.

Awkward silence.

“I’d be happy to give you a lift to pick it up,” Joseph said finally.

Every particle of my being screamed I Don’t Want To but, well, sometimes when you’re an adult you need to go get your damn car.

“When works for you?” I relented.

“Now is fine.”

Driving to the bayside was complete agony. Joseph’s spacious SUV was filled to the brim with more awkward silence. We didn’t even listen to the radio, just the muffled sounds of cars passing us. I wanted to die.

He gave me a smile that looked more like it should be classified as a cringe when we finally got there and I could escape to my own car.

But we weren’t in the clear yet. He was going to be polite and wait to follow me home, right behind me. This was the worst.

When we pulled into our respective driveways, I just about ran for my doorstep. Joseph was slower about it. I could hear his car door shut and then a lack of footsteps.

I looked back to see him hovering by his car still, hands turning his keys over and over, eyes down.

Sweet escape was so close behind me, just immediate death in a pile of junk food and bad television.

But no. I had to stop running away.

I motioned for him to come over, and held the door open for him as he awkwardly stepped up my porch, not meeting my eyes.

“We need to talk,” I said, the words coming out like a big sigh. He just nodded and entered my home.

It was already getting dark, a purpley hue coming in through the windows, and I flicked on the lights as I led the way into the kitchen. I pulled out a chair for him at the table and poured us both some water. If we had nothing to do with our hands we’d surely explode in this oncoming conversation.

I leaned against the refrigerator as he sat, to allow some space between us. We fiddled with our water glasses and didn’t drink.

“I want this to stop,” I said finally.

He smiled sadly down at the tabletop. “I figured as much.”

I scraped a hand through my hair, fingernails blunt against my scalp, eyes closing. “You’re a friend to me,” I said. “I’d like to continue being friends, you know? I care about you, man… I want to help you, just. That’s all I want. Just friends and help.”

I heard his glass clink and looked up. He was chugging that water like nobody’s business. I swallowed dryly.

“Uh. I care about Mary too,” I continued. “I’m not in any position to say what you both should be doing but… It doesn’t have to be like this. There are options... I mean, I really can’t talk like I know about these things, but this is just no good, for you or your family. Right?”

“I’m going to ask that you don’t tell Mary about what happened between us,” Joseph said.

“I…”

I’d lost him already, hadn’t I?

He smiled and pressed back his chair with a short screech on the tiles. He stood and started, quite inexplicably, examining our overhead cabinets.

“The handles don’t match,” he said. “I could give you a few pointers sometime.”

“Joseph…”

With his back to me, he opened a cabinet and craned his head to look through our Easy Mac and Beefaroni. “I’m getting hungry…” he mumbled. “I’m… so hungry.”

“Joseph.”

He closed the cabinet again and his arm fell limply to his side, head bowed.

“... I don’t know if I can stop,” he said, so soft I almost didn’t hear him.

“Of course you can,” I said, stepping toward him, setting my glass on the table beside his empty one. “We’re all on your side--”

“No, you don’t understand.” He laughed brokenly and covered his face with a white-knuckled hand. “I’m… trapped. I can’t stop and I don’t know if I want to.”

**BANG**

A crack like a gunshot tore through the room and abruptly Joseph doubled over, gripping his chest with his other hand.

I rushed to him but he shoved me away with his elbow.

**BANG! BANG!**

Cabinets were slamming open and shut, the table legs clattered against the floor. What the hell was happening? Was this an earthquake? All in a matter of blinks, the deafening bangs grew closer and closer together until they were loud pops like boiling water, seething through the air, and Joseph hunched over himself, and I clung to the back of his shirt, and then the lightbulbs overhead exploded in a cascade of glass and instant darkness.

An incredible force threw me across the room, right over the table.

I slammed into the refrigerator and slumped to the floor, dazed and stinging.

The loud cracking pops continued, and all at once I was suffocating in an overwhelming stench of smoke and decay. My eyes and dizzy brain were trying to adjust to the dark…

Joseph was still hunched over, heaving, except every time he heaved his back seemed to arch higher and higher until it must have been my imagination because it was warped beyond something humanly possible.

The darkness grew deeper, beyond something as simple as busted lights and night time…

Joseph was an inky shape across the room, much too tall, arms much too long, with curled tapering fingers. His head spun around and glowing white eyes stared at me over a glint of teeth, too much teeth, too big a mouth.

All at once some primordial part of my brain remembered what it was like to be prey and I scrambled for the living room, crawling up into a dead run.

Behind me, something _shrieked_.

I made for the front door but right when I was about to grab the handle, an explosion of darkness burst out in front of me, drenching me in stink and icy old, forcing me backward. I couldn’t get out-- somehow I couldn’t get out--

I turned, barely missing a step, and kept bolting, running down the hallway to the first room I could get to. It was Amanda’s. Joseph was right behind me. I didn’t dare look over my shoulder but somehow I just _knew_ he was there.

I slammed into Amanda’s room and shut the door, scrambling with the lock. Lock dammit lock--

There was no window in this room. I’d chosen the one goddamn room without a _window_ \--

**BANG BANG BANG**

My body was pressed to the door and I could feel it shuddering against me, creaking and cracking under the assault from outside.

My hands shook wildly as I pulled out my phone. Help. _Help_.

My mind blanked.

My fingers were trembling too hard.

The door gave a horrible groan and whatever that thing was out in the hall hissed gutturally. I called Robert on speed dial. It was all I could think of.

The phone rang exactly once and then the door burst open. I was sent flying backwards by another invisible force and my phone went clattering across the floor. I was backed up against Amanda’s bed, staring down something unfathomable.

It curled through the doorway, its long neck bending unnaturally to fit its head under, a gangling form with protruding ribs, so thin yet also so completely huge its pointed elbows scraped the ceiling as it crouched before me. It was all completely black, a black so deep and incomprehensible that I couldn’t focus on it, like ink on a page, without reflection. Darkness swarmed out behind it, slowly staining its way through the room, and the horrible smell unfurled again.

I couldn’t move. Those glowing eyes had me transfixed, and its jaw unlatched, falling open with a sick wet flop, rows and rows of knifelike teeth dripping with luminous saliva.

The last thing I expected was for it to speak.

“ **HUNGRY** ,” it said. “ **PLEASE...** ”

I was inching all the way up onto Amanda’s bed, my back finding the far wall. “Joseph…”

It was leaning closer. I had nowhere to go. It was filling the whole room.

“Joseph please!” I screamed. “Please no please!”

It lunged for me.

Then with a valiant yowl, a black ball of fur went diving from the top of Amanda’s bookshelf, hissing and spitting its way into Joseph’s face.

Joseph screeched and threw Zelda aside with a clawed hand, but it gave me just the sliver of time I needed to dash for Amanda’s closet.

I passed by my phone but it was still too far to reach. A tinny voice was yelling for me…

I closed myself into the closet, sobbing and retching on the death-smell clinging to everything.

The doors shuddered as the monster started beating them down and oh god, I was going to die, I was dead already, I would never see my daughter again, she would lose her father--

A clawed hand the size of my whole body burst through the door and scraped the wall, jangling coat hangers. All I could do was throw myself back out the door on the far side--

I ran--

Something cold and slimy brushed heavy against my side but I _ran_ , pushed my way through, tripped on the threshold out of Amanda’s room--

I ran back for the living room, for the front door--

I couldn’t reach it. Joseph leapt onto my back, throwing me over. I rolled across the floor, wound up staring up at the ceiling, and then the monster was on top of me, its unhinged jaw growing wider and wider until it was the entire length of my body, hanging over me, dripping spit that stank of corpses and burned flesh. Everything was dark. All I could see were the teeth--

Then Joseph shrieked again, this time an unmistakable squeal of pain, like some enormous pig, and reared off of me. The gangling, monstrous body twisted inward and threw itself aside, a grotesquely bending pile of limbs, and a more human-sized figure ran after it.

The door was wide open. I could see light, even as the darkness swirled around us like a physical thing.

It was Robert. Robert was here, somehow, in his jeans and his fucking stupid leather jacket, brandishing a knife. The blade somehow glowed fiercely through the suffocating dark--

He ran right for Joseph’s head and stuck the knife between the glowing eyes. The monster’s unearthly howls shook through my ribs as it bucked and jerked, knocking Robert away. It threw its head back and **BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG** the sounds like gunshots riddled the monster’s cries and it seemed to shrink in on itself, a black hole vortex sucking in all the darkness into one concentrated point.

And then all at once all of it left, hurtling like a strong wind out the open door, throwing the welcome mat clean across my driveway, and then it was gone.

It was all gone.

My living room was dim, fully night outside the windows, but it was somehow bright compared to the unnatural dark we’d just been in. I felt… warmer. The awful smell was stuck at the back of my throat, but even that slowly faded, and then we were just in my empty house, the room in disarray, with the door hanging open limply on a cool night.

The quiet was horrible for a few pounding heartbeats, until it slowly morphed into… peace.

I was alive.

Robert stumbled. He let his knife fall to the floor and turned to me.

Was he hurt? No. He wasn’t hurt. He was walking toward me purposefully… He sank to his knees there with me on the floor and pulled me up firmly, until I was sitting.

He was ashen and wild-eyed. I’d never seen him look so utterly scared. It was like glancing me over now was even scarier to him than Joseph had been. He cupped my face in both his hands, so very careful, and I couldn’t tell whether he was shaking or I was. The roughness of his calluses was grounding.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, voice pulled thin.

I swallowed a few times before I could finally get out “I’m ok.”

Then he hugged me so, so tightly, and I buried my face in his neck.

x


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've taken some liberties with the cult ending for this story, to explore some different things I wanted to explore. Just trust me lol *finger guns*

Robert took me into the dark kitchen and sat me down at the table, a bizarre mirror of my previous conversation with Joseph. Joseph… I couldn’t even begin to wrap my head around anything. Using light from the open fridge, Robert changed out the lightbulbs. Then squinting in the newly illuminated kitchen, he got my broom and started sweeping up the broken glass. It was everywhere, from the lights and also from the two glasses of water, which had been hurled against opposite walls.

All I could do at first was watch, dazed and shaking and unable to admit to myself that what just happened was real.

Finally I got up the courage to ask, “What was that?”

Robert was crouching with a garbage bag, gently picking out larger glass shards with his fingers. “That was Joseph,” he said slowly. “Or at least mostly Joseph.” He dragged the broom in front of him, hand low on the handle as he crouched down. “He should be alright, by the way. He’s gone home. But. He’s never attacked someone like this before...” This was insane. What was he even saying? “We don’t know how much is Joseph and how much is something else. But he’s in there somewhere. Maybe. That’s what we’ve been banking on.”

“Who’s we?”

“Mary and I. We were drinking when you called… She’ll be over here soon. She had to take care of the kids.”

“Oh god, the kids…”

He gave me a sad, thin-mouthed look. “Don’t worry,” he said. “Mary would be protecting people from _them_ not the other way around.”

I slumped in my chair as all this sank into me.

There were more questions to ask, as Robert hefted the full garbage bag into the corner and got to toweling up the water, but then Zelda walked into the kitchen, tail low and tentative until she spotted us and it rose.

I gave a dry sob seeing that she was alright. She moved a little stiffly, but hopped onto my lap, and I ran my hand through her fur.

She went up onto the table and sprawled out in the middle of it, tail curling over her back legs. Robert was out of things to do, so he came and sat across from me at last.

“How’d you know where to find me?” I asked.

“Never heard a cat yell like that.”

Zelda was purring, her eyes closed. Our queen.

“It was quite a phone call,” he said, but the tired humor was gone now. He still looked gray-faced and stricken.

“Robert…”

“I know. I’ve got a lot of explaining to do.”

He took a final moment to light a cigarette and stuff it in the corner of his mouth. Then he reached both his hands across the table, palms up. I realized what he wanted and placed my hands in his. He held them firmly and I squeezed back.

“Mary will have the real details… It’s still not my story to tell either. But I’ll do my best, with what I have,” he said. His thumb traced the edge of my hand. “I don’t like Joseph. Maybe I even hate him. But you’re right, we were all friends once, real close ones. So when this happened to him and the kids, Mary came to me for help. She knew I wouldn’t abandon her, and she knew I’d give Joseph a chance, even if I did hate him.”

“What happened to them? Mary’s family?”

“That’s what Mary’s better at explaining…” He sucked the cigarette to the center of his lips briefly, then rolled it to the other side. “I don’t suppose you believe in possession?”

“Like the devil or something?”

“Or something, yeah.”

“I don’t know what the hell to believe any more.”

He smiled quickly. “Welcome to the club. Just over three years ago, this… thing took over Joseph. The kids too. Sometimes they’re completely normal and we can almost believe they’re just fine. But other times… Well, you’ve seen a prime example of the other times.”

“What is it?”

“We’ve been trying to find that out. All sorts of research. We could write a damn thesis. But it’s still just a bunch of spare facts we can’t quite piece together… They can transform like that, into monsters, yet most of the time they’re human, even seem to have their own personalities and no recollection of their… outbursts. There’s also strange phenomena around them sometimes. Weird noises and smells… Small animals die around them randomly. They’re always hungry, but we’re not sure what they feed on. Mary thinks it might be something like… misery. Loneliness. Some horrible human feeling.”

“And they’ve been living here for _three years_?”

Robert’s smile broadened a little manically. “Pretty crazy, huh? We’re good liars.”

“Isn’t that fucking _dangerous_ , Robert?”

The smile disappeared instantly. “We had no idea they were capable of actually going after people,” he murmured. “Whenever they transformed in the past they seemed pretty… docile. And Mary understands a lot about spells and shit. Symbols, protections. We thought our job was just to figure out how to cure them and to keep them contained… not to stop them from eating people.”

A shiver ran up my spine, remembering those horrible teeth. Robert must have felt it in my hands, because his grip tightened gently.

“Looks like there’s less of Joseph in there than we thought,” he said darkly.

“Why me though?” I asked, my throat dry. “Why’d he come after me?”

“I honestly have no idea,” said Robert. “If I’d expected something like this, I wouldn’t have let him near you. Ever.” He stared down at our hands, his eyes heavy lidded and tired. I realized he must not have slept well last night, because the bags under his eyes were back. That stupid argument of ours… “I thought Joseph was just being Joseph,” he muttered.

I lifted our hands slightly, bobbed them up and down against the table, just a frustrated gesture to expend energy. “None of this makes damn _sense_ ,” I said.

“Mary can tell it better,” Robert repeated. “I’m only good at bullshit stories I’ve made up.”

For a long time we simply sat there as I tried to process all this. Robert’s cigarette began to burn low, but he still refused to let go of my hands, and I clung just as much. Zelda lounged, her big belly rising and falling slowly with sleep now.

“There’s something else I have to tell you,” Robert said.

“God, what else could there even be?” I just wanted to go to bed and wake up and have this all be some bizarre dream.

His eyes drifted to the side, fixing somewhere on the tabletop. “I love you,” he said.

I bowed my head and squeezed my eyes shut. This was too much.

His voice was soft and careful. “It doesn’t have to mean anything right now. It shouldn’t. It’s just I don’t think I could live if something happened to you and you never knew. I love you very much.”

When I looked back up my eyes were misty and I thought for a moment his might be as well.

“I’m sorry for what I said earlier,” I managed. “I didn’t mean it at all.”

It all seemed so distant and childish now.

Robert sighed long through his nose. “I know. I’m sorry too. You weren’t wrong.”

For a long time we just sat there quietly fiddling with each other’s hands, warm and solid, and every time we looked up at each other it seemed our eyes were wetter than last time and we wound up laughing stutteringly at ourselves and at the absurdity of everything.

x

Mary let herself inside, and the stomping of her wedged heels announced her approach even before she marched into the kitchen.

We were still at the table, not holding hands any more because Robert needed to stub out his cigarette and I wound up petting Zelda idly. But I think neither of us could quite find the strength in our legs to stand up and greet her properly. Her expression was dangerously sober.

She cupped Robert’s cheek in her hand, then mine.

“Can’t believe you two are having this conversation without booze,” she said, some trembling emotion undermining the joke, and she immediately went to start throwing open my cabinets until I mumbled “We only have beer.” Then she attacked the fridge and pulled out a whole six-pack of Corona.

She sat down at the last chair at the table, hunched over the beer like a dragon over gold as she fumbled with my bottle opener.

She passed out the beers as she opened them. Zelda didn’t appreciate having so many arms exchanging goods above her, but then Mary scritched her behind the ears and that seemed to hit the spot just right. Before taking a drink, Mary ran her black fingernails through Zelda’s fur, gently feeling and prodding…

“Is she hurt?” I asked, my heart sinking.

“No,” said Mary. “Just a little arthritic.”

Then she started chugging, and that was surely the sign for me and Robert to also start chugging.

“I guess you’ve met my brood,” Mary said finally.

All I could do was bob my head in a dumb nod.

“I’ve put them to bed… If you can play along for the neighbors and tell em they have the flu for the next couple days, that’d be great.” She pulled something out of her purse and plopped it on the table. “These are for you.” It was a stack of what looked like strips of canvas, with black symbols painted on each one. “Put them in the doorway of each room. They’re for protection.”

“What are they?” I asked, picking up the pile gingerly and carding through them. There were a variety of symbols, but some repeated.

“Sigils. Very old ones.”

I stopped at a symbol that looked familiar. A circle, with a mark in the center and six spokes. I held it up to Robert.

His fingers curled in his sleeve and he pulled it back to reveal the tattoo on his hand.

“Yeah, I gave him that,” said Mary. “That’s why a knife held in that hand was able to stop Joseph, send him back home. These things are useful.”

“Are you telling me magic is real too, then?”

“I’m telling you it’s all the same business. These are all very old forces we’re dealing with here.”

“Better start from the top, Mary,” said Robert gruffly.

Her finger hooked on the cross at her neck and she turned to me fully, glancing me over.

“Joseph and I aren’t exactly that good of Christians,” she said. “We’ve got the bake sales and the neighborhood confirmations down pat because Joey’s into that, he thinks that’ll make us good people. But when it comes to faith… not so much. Or at least not in the traditional sense.”

She was already on beer number two. She popped it open, sending the bottlecap clinking across the table. Zelda sniffed at it.

“What I’m saying is, we dabble in a lot of things,” Mary continued. “Hell, even before settling into the youth minister crap, we ran around from religion to religion like it was our job. Hinduism, straight-up Catholic, white yoga mom Buddhism, Islam… I think Joseph in particular was always looking for a place to fit in but his sense of adventure always kept us wandering. We were both attracted to mysticism in particular. We’re Christian now, but we like to try spells on the side, you following?”

“Like witchcraft?” I asked.

“Yep,” she said. “Most of it’s fairly tame. It’s an act of faith just like with any other religion. But here in Maple Bay we found something different. Something very old, secret even. Only a few people even knew it existed, and always in fragments. We got hooked on our own curiosity. That old sense of adventure again…”

She motioned to the sigils. “That’s how I learned these. Their power comes from the ocean, I think. The thing we summoned definitely came from the ocean.”

“Wait… are you telling me you two summoned a demon just out of curiosity?”

She smirked. “Yes and no. You have to have a good reason to summon something, right? And we had our reasons. That’s private. I wouldn’t necessarily call it a demon either. It might be a god in its own right… Suffice to say, we thought we had it handled, but really we had no idea what the fuck we were dealing with. It took over. Joseph, and the kids too. They haven’t been the same since.”

“What about you?” I asked cautiously.

“I’m just an alcoholic,” she said. “Not sure why it passed me up. Maybe it knew the beasties would need a caretaker.”

She fumbled a hand into her purse again and pulled out her cellphone, thumbing through it briefly.

“I know it’s a lot to take in,” she told me. “So I brought you some more proof.”

She handed me the phone. It was open onto an album of photos. I flipped through them with mounting dread.

A picture of some great black furry thing, like a wolf, curled up on a child’s bed… Dark figures with glowing eyes… And the monster I recognized as the one that had attacked me before. Its elongated limbs, its mouth crammed with teeth… How had she gotten so close to take these photos? They were almost domestic.

“They’ve never attacked me,” she said, her eyes staring me down and I wondered if she’d read my damn mind. “They’ve never attacked anyone until now.”

“I told him that part,” said Robert.

I handed her phone back and she plopped it by her elbow before chugging more beer.

“George, I gotta ask you,” she said. “Why was Joseph alone here with you?”

Shame warmed the back of my neck. “I…”

She smiled a little meanly. “I only want to know because it might give a clue about why he would attack.”

I gave her my best account of the conversation I’d had with him. It was hard not to cut corners, to tell her the real truth. Robert and Mary’s faces were both agonizingly unreadable as I finished.

“Interesting,” Mary said at last. “Well, that’s standard Joseph fare. He and I were like that well before the monsters. Hell, even before Smalls’ fling, and that’s ancient history.” She turned her sharp smile on Robert. “I still remember you grovelling so sweetly like it was yesterday though.”

“Wait…” My brain had effectively short-circuited. I could only stare at Robert, who was frowning pointedly at his hands. “You and Joseph…?”

“Joey broke Rob’s cold black heart, isn’t that a story,” said Mary.

“That’s enough, thanks,” said Robert warningly.

She gave an easy shrug.

“... I’m sorry, Mary,” I mumbled.

“It’s fine.” She looked at me archly, which suggested it was not fine, but I didn’t want to push it. “More importantly, I’ll have to figure out what it is about steamy romance that has Joseph so… bitey.”

“We can’t keep them around like this any more,” Robert said. “Not if they’re dangerous.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” she replied coolly. “My sigils work. They’re locked in the house now. I’ll keep them there a few days with their ‘flu’ while I work something out for the immediate future.” She pointed at me flippantly. “Keep an eye on George, and I’ll keep an eye on my family.”

“We can’t keep an eye on _everybody_ ,” Robert argued.

“They’re my family,” Mary said, with dangerous finality.

The following silence was brutal. There were not enough beers for this.

Then Mary was looking at me again. “Alright, kiddo?” she asked, with an inflection that was hard to interpret.

“Huh?”

“You’re pale as death.”

The way Robert was watching me closely seemed to confirm that.

“It’s just a lot,” I said.

She passed me a second beer, even though I was only halfway through my first one.

“That’s what drinking’s for,” she said. “And friends.”

Robert lit another cigarette, and we sat there in silence that gradually became more familiar. The whole world was upside down but she had a point. I could still taste beer. I could still see the cracked whittling scars on Robert’s knuckles. The tiny details of mundanity still existed, even in a reality so strange and frightening.

x

I called Amanda. She didn’t pick up, whether because she was busy or because of avoidance, but I left a long mushy message about how much I loved her and was proud of her. A dad in distress can be allowed these indulgences.

Mary took me around the house slathering her sigils in Amanda’s crafting glue and sticking them in doorways. I had no idea how these were supposed to work, but her easy confidence was at least somewhat reassuring. Robert asked to stay the night to keep an eye on me, just in case, and that was also a comfort. He went home to get his toothbrush but returned with a whole small duffel and Betsy perched on his arm, her tongue lolling benevolently. That was comforting too, to my chagrin.

Mary took my phone and put her number in it. “It’ll be fine,” she told me firmly. “These are all just precautions.”

“You’ll be ok?” I asked.

She leered. “I’m always ok, skipper.”

It was late into the night by now. Betsy was up past her bedtime but very interested in Zelda, circling her totteringly with her stubby tail wagging furiously. Zelda just sat there, regal and eyeing Betsy out of the corner of her eye. When Betsy circled back to Zelda’s front, she let out a muffled boof in her jowl and Zelda hovered a paw out defensively, ready to smack this strange bug-eyed dog if necessary. Robert separated them with his foot.

“The beasts are waiting for their beauty,” Mary drawled. “I’m headed home. Keep it sleazy, fellas.”

Her hand lingered on my arm but she didn’t look at me, so it could have been a coincidence if I didn’t know her better.

She and Robert hugged briefly. Then she saluted us and was out the door, into the dark quiet night, headed for a home I couldn’t possibly comprehend.

“Will she really be ok?” I asked Robert.

Betsy had rolled over, and he was rubbing her belly with a socked foot. “She’s a tough girl,” he said simply.

I was all at once so incredibly tired. Everything in me felt frayed and dislocated.

What could I even say to Robert? The last conversation we’d had that wasn’t completely insane, we were throwing barbs at each other. But since then, he’d probably saved my life.

“I think I need a hot shower,” I said, and he nodded seriously.

Closed up in the bathroom, I looked at myself in the mirror as the shower heated up, losing track of my thoughts until the mirror fogged over my reflection. Too much thinking. Right now I needed to just not think anymore, let things be.

I felt scared, vulnerable, and sheepishly couldn’t close the shower curtain. It was like I was a kid again, afraid of the night time.

The hot water helped though, warming me up until all my aching muscles turned to jelly. I would be so sore tomorrow, after running and getting thrown around… But the soreness was also a pointed reminder that I was alive.

I hadn’t felt such unavoidable heaviness since Alex’s death.

I didn’t even use shampoo or anything, I just stood there in the water until I started getting dizzy from the heat. Then I stepped out and towelled off and got into a pair of boxers.

When I left the bathroom, I poked my head back into the living room, where Robert was slouched far down in the sofa, his legs sprawled across the coffee table. He’d taken off his jacket, and Betsy had made a bed of it on the floor, curled up and snoring.

Robert looked awfully tired as well.

I stepped into the room and he watched me, his cheek resting on his shoulder. I was just in my boxers. It wasn’t the first time Robert had seen my chest. I felt too skinny and awkward, with my hairy legs and bony elbows, but also very warm and tired, flushed from the shower with water still set deep in my hair and angles.

I came over and sat next to him with a sigh. Then all at once I turned myself around and laid across his stomach, letting my feet dangle over the opposite arm of the sofa. He adjusted slightly beneath me, his hand coming up to my hair.

“Is this real?” I asked, staring at the ceiling.

He curled a strand of my wet hair around his thumb idly. “ ‘Fraid so.”

I risked shifting my attention to his face, and hey big surprise, he was still handsome. Not only that, though, but he was so familiar. The grays in his hair and his eyebrows. The way the hair of his beard scruffily petered out below his chin into his neck. His dark eyes watching me with aching softness and clarity.

“You can talk to me, you know,” he mumbled. “About… anything.”

He said it so tenderly it felt like my chest would collapse.

So I started talking.

I told him everything. I told him the rest of how my friendship with Joseph had deteriorated. How I was so worried about Amanda and I missed her terribly. How I was worried about _him_ , how I was convinced I wasn’t good enough. How scared I was now. I just kept vomiting all these things I had so inexplicably kept quiet for so long, and he ran his fingers through my hair close to my scalp, listening the whole time.

It all seemed so unimportant, but conversely the weight of his arm resting on my shoulder might have been one of the most important parts of my life.

x


	8. Chapter 8

In the morning, Robert and I went for a walk.

He grouched about it, asked if I was a pod person because he knew I was just as allergic to early morning as he was, but I couldn’t get back to sleep because I was aching too much and wanted to stretch some of the knots out of my limbs.

We just walked around the neighborhood, shuffling along in our sweatpants, me in my sandals and Robert barefoot but with sunglasses. He was wearing his version of our ghost tour t-shirt, which I realized was a size too small for him. His belly poked out a little at the bottom. It was… cute.

The morning was chilly, the sun muted behind a film of gray-white, and the freshness of the air and the noisiness of the neighborhood birds pierced into my bones, reminded me again that I was alive and had another day in the making.

“When I was twelve, I was bugle boy for the eagle scouts,” Robert said, his voice a low rumble with leftover sleep. “At camp I woke up before everybody else to play the bugle call for breakfast. A hard job, but I worked for it. Then one day, a misty morning like this one… I woke up before the sun and I climbed up to my perch to play my bugle for the boys. But something was wrong that day. The sun just wouldn’t rise. The mist intensified, like it was a living thing, engulfing the tents below, and I just felt it in my gut that something here was unnatural. I played the bugle that day as a warning, but I was too late. When the mist cleared, the tents were empty, every boy disappeared without a trace. To this day, early morning reminds me of how I was the only one to escape. I hope you understand the sacrifice I’m making for you, being outside at this hour.”

“The least believable part of that story is that you were a boy scout,” I told him.

He smiled broadly, so his canines showed, pleased that recent events hadn’t dented my bullshit detector.

As we passed Brian’s house, he was mowing his better-than-mine lawn with a push mower that was also better than mine, and gave us a wave. I wanted to kick him.

Thank god! I still had the capacity for pettiness as well.

Everything was so normal.

We half jogged our way across the street at the entrance to the cul-de-sac because the asphalt was cracked and jagged on Robert’s feet. Then back on the sidewalk, I stopped to pick up a stranded worm and toss him back into Hugo’s yard. I was feeling refreshed. It must have shown on my face because Robert bumped my shoulder with his.

Everybody was ok for now. This was home.

As we passed Damien’s sort-of-mansion, we heard the quiet murmur of voices somewhere amidst the flowers in back. Through a trellis of roses, we could just catch a glimpse of Damien and Hugo sitting on a bench between two gargoyles, holding little teacups but looking a lot less put-together than usual. They were clearly both in pjs. Their voices were too quiet to hear, but Hugo plucked a leaf out of Damien’s sloppily braided hair, and I turned away quickly from the big smiles on their faces, because those expressions somehow seemed the most private detail of all.

We passed Robert’s house, and then finally the Christiansen’s, innocuous and white, with the lovely blue curtains drawn inside.

“You and Mary have been doing this alone for a long time,” I said. I meant it as a question but it came out more like a statement.

“We’re just that sort of people, I guess,” said Robert with a half shrug.

I couldn’t help but think of my last conversation with Joseph, the desperation in his words. Had any of that been real? Had any of it been human?

We were quiet again as we stepped up into my house, but thankfully my thoughts were interrupted by an energetic Betsy, who was trying very hard to convince Robert he hadn’t already fed her thirty minutes ago.

x

“What happened between you and Joseph?” I asked Robert over breakfast.

He pulled a face with the fork halfway to his mouth.

“It seems important,” I said. I was some sort of invincible communication god this morning. He’d created a monster.

He kept holding the sour face, but lowered his fork and snuck Betsy a smidge of sausage under the table.

“What do you wanna know?” he asked, still under the table. For a moment, I wondered if he was ridiculous enough to try and stay down there the whole conversation, but he rose again, hunching a bit with his arms crossed.

“Just… how’d it go south?” I tried to be merciful.

“He was married to Mary so it was south to begin with,” Robert said. “It was a long time ago, back when the twins were toddlers. I was, uh. The first affair.”

“So… it’s a routine,” I said, deflating a little. On some level I had believed I also was the first. I guess I hadn’t known Joseph very well at all.

“Yeah, but I could fantasize that it was serious,” Robert said bitterly. “Maybe Joseph could too. It was all just a stupid escape thing. He’s always trying to run away instead of facing his fuck-ups. Just turned out I was the fuck-up that time.”

“Did he end it?” I asked carefully.

“I did. I had my own shit and I was tired of lying to Mary. She already knew though, of course. Always does.” He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I’ve known them long enough that I can remember when they loved each other. But that was ages ago. This is just how they are.”

It was a little heartbreaking. Through the stuffy defensiveness on Robert’s face I could tell he still cared about these people, and I thought I did too, even if I didn’t know them nearly as well. It really was hard to tell what happened behind closed doors, even for the most upstanding people.

And now Mary was alone in that fancy house nursing her monsters.

“I thought I loved him,” Robert said slowly, with some tenuous fortitude. “But now I think I just liked the attention. We were both being pathetic.”

“Well, that makes three of us.”

“You did the right thing.” He gave me a stern look, and looped his fingers into the handle of his coffee mug. “You’re a good person, George, you’re just surrounded by bad ones.”

I scoffed. “Don’t be so dramatic.” _You’re a good person too, you idiot._

He smiled over his mug and took a sip.

That was the end of that conversation, but I was satisfied. Zelda had appeared in the doorway, as if sensing that sausage handouts had occurred without her.

“I think I’ll call in sick today,” I mused, as she rubbed against my shins in entreaty.

“Yeah, fuck The Man,” said Robert.

x

The normalcy continued. Robert took a small square pill with the last dregs of his coffee. Showers, shaving. It was Monday again, so I took my shot. He’d moved into my room and I was in Amanda’s. (When I offered him Amanda’s bed last night he’d asked me awkwardly “That’s not weird?” to which I responded “It’s not but you just made it weird so you can take my bed.” I might have caught him blushing at that.)

We stretched out on the couch and watched movies on pay per view all damn day.

As afternoon swung around, he shuffled off to take a nap and I considered joining him but wound up doing some work instead, to make up for my impromptu vacation.

Quiet. Normal.

Then the doorbell rang and Betsy barked. My knees creaked getting up.

I pulled open the door and any half-assed greeting that might have been forming on my lips immediately died.

“Hey neighbor. Didn’t know if you’d be home.”

It was Joseph.

He looked as clean-cut and handsome as ever, in an Easter yellow cardigan with cable knit.

Out of the corner of my eye I glimpsed Zelda padding away into the kitchen, tail low and hackles raised.

“Uh,” I said. It felt like my guts had filled with ice. I glanced at the sigils pasted all along the doorjamb.

Joseph also glanced at them, expression unchanging from his bland friendliness. It was like he knew what they were, yet at the same time wasn’t seeing them at all. A bizarre duality.

How much was human? How much was something else?

“I wanted to apologize for how I acted,” he said, his eyes pinching and his smile twisting in self-deprecation. “I might have dragged you into something too personal... It was weird. I hope we can still be friends.”

His hands were clasped over his stomach and he pointedly didn’t move any closer than where he stood a couple feet away on the porch. Did that mean the sigils were working?

“Uh,” I said again.

His mask crumbled and he looked briefly devastated. “Please don’t hate me, George…”

All at once a hard weight was against my back. Robert had been rousted. He leaned his forearm against the doorframe over my head, a wall of lowkey protectiveness. Oh thank god. He stared Joseph down, silent but brow furrowed.

Quite a few emotions passed over Joseph’s face before it settled on queasy friendliness again, covering things up with a smile as always. His blue eyes glanced back and forth between us.

“... I see,” he said heavily.

“You need something?” Robert drawled.

“I guess I’m leaving,” said Joseph. “George, I hope you and Amanda are doing well. I’m honestly… sorry.”

I had no idea what to say.

Then I noticed that Mary was leaning against my car in the driveway with a cigarette. How long had she been there?

As Joseph turned, he met her gaze and stiffened visibly.

“I see how it is,” he said, his voice uneven.

Mary flashed a mean grin.

I watched his back as he walked back home next door, with as much dignity as he could, his shoulders terribly slumped and his head low. We could hear the side-door shut behind him. I kind of felt bad for him.

How much was human?

“Thought you were keeping him locked up,” Robert said testily.

Mary pinched out her cigarette and flicked it across my lawn. Thanks, Mary.

“Information gathering,” she said. “I wanted to see what he’d do if I let him out for a bit. He headed right back to George. Still not sure why he went aggro yesterday, but it seems there’s really something here he wants.”

Robert’s defensive stance over me hadn’t budged, and my face was starting to heat up.

“Not sure I like you using George as a guinea pig,” he said.

Mary gave him a dry look as if to say _Honey, please_. “I like George, I’m not going to let my husband dismember him.”

“Thanks?” I managed.

The look she gave me was warmer, comforting even.

“Does he… actually like me?” I asked. I was having trouble deciphering demons from marital tension.

“Who knows?” said Mary. “You’re not his usual type. But don’t be fooled too much. That thing inside of him eats emotions.”

“I’m sorry, but what the hell does that mean?”

“I’m still figuring it out,” she said. “These forces seem to sustain themselves on human heartache. I’ve grounded them to the house, so they’ve had to make due with the cul-de-sac mostly. They always have to come home. But hey, maybe it’s been enough so far. Sure are a lot of single dads around here, divorces, deaths.” She gave us a pointed look. “Whatever bullshit is going on between you two might just be cramping Joseph’s style.”

“We’re not--” I started, but boy she really could look witchy when she wanted.

“Fucking, no, but I said _emotions_.”

“Give it a rest,” Robert said. Even he was flustered under this scrutiny.

Mary’s face went fond. She was a roller coaster this woman. It was a wonder Joseph even survived.

“Well, I’m due back for house arrest anyway,” she said. “Make good choices. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” She turned and started sauntering away down my driveway.

“Take care of yourself,” said Robert after her.

She laughed like that was the funniest thing she’d ever heard.

x

That evening, Robert and I ordered pizza for dinner. The delivery guy (who looked suspiciously like the DJ from Mary’s party) gave the sigils in the doorway a weird look, but I tipped him well so hopefully he wouldn’t judge our supernatural bent nor the pineapple on our pizza.

I managed to lure Robert away from the Criterion Collection into a brainless action movie, for the sake of my sanity. We watched _The Rock_ , with Sean Connery and Nicholas Cage, but without Dwayne Johnson which I felt was false advertising.

We wound up making fun of it mostly, and kept a running tally of how many times somebody swore for no reason.

It was getting late by the time it was over, but we turned on another action flick that neither of us recognized, settling in for the long haul. Robert always stayed up late. It was past my dad bedtime but I found myself too comfortable sunk into the sofa beside him, our hips nudging. He was warm and it was a bit funny that he smelled like _my_ shampoo and soap.

Sleepily I let my attention stray to him rather than the movie.

I also let my brain poke at something I’d been trying not to think about too much.

Robert had told me that he loved me.

He caught me staring and instead of cracking a joke, he just looked right back at me, meeting my gaze. The flickering light of the tv screen danced across his high cheekbones, his dark hair, his eyes watching me so closely.

What the hell.

I kissed him.

For a moment we just hung there, idly connected, and then he kissed back, shifting somewhat, closer to me.

It had been a long time since we’d done this, and never quite in this way. Making out with Robert had always been sloppy and rushed, looking more for release than anything else. This time was slow, careful. He laid a heavy hand on my thigh and I brushed my knuckles against the scruff of his jaw.

God, I wanted him. Not only for sex, I just wanted to be with him as much as I could. I’d fallen down that doomed tunnel ages ago and it hit me all at once with the soft warmth of his lips against mine, the way our kiss ended in a quiet smack but dove directly into another--I really loved him too. I cupped his face, my fingertips brushing the soft hair hanging in front of his ears.

The rat-a-tat-tat of gunshots popped from the television, discordant music and no doubt some cheesy one-liner from the hero that I completely missed because I was too busy running my hands through Robert’s hair, pulling him closer to me, hooking my leg over his.

My lips smeared across his cheek to get some air, and he nosed his way to my jaw, peppering wet kisses down to my throat, beard scraping me along the way. His hand curled up to the small of my back, warm fingers sliding just under the hem of my shirt. His teeth grazed my pulse and I swallowed thickly. I gripped his hair and he made a muffled sound at the back of his throat, a harsh rumble that had me pulling him back up a little more roughly than I’d intended to get at his lips again.

He was pressing me down gently into the sofa, bowing over me, in all our awkward fumbling of legs.

_I want you. I’ve wanted you for so long…_

Our breaths came short and aborted between increasingly avid kisses. He sucked briefly on my lower lip and my back arched, pressing my belly up against his.

Then all at once he pulled away.

With our faces still close, he stared down at me, his eyes dark and unreadable but something timid in his face, even as he audibly tried to catch his breath.

He pulled his other hand from where it had been rather smushed against the couch cushions and gingerly brushed hair across my forehead, traced my eyebrow down to the curve of my face where his touch trailed away.

“Are you ok?” I asked. He nodded, hand falling to help hold him up again. But then he collapsed in a gentle whuff of weight on top of me, and buried his face in the crook of my neck.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, lips against my skin.

I just wrapped my arms around him and held him tight. This was alright. It didn’t have to be something we weren’t ready for...

I loved him. My heart was hammering so hard, I wondered if he could hear it too. It felt like it would crack right out of my chest.

And that was frightening, wasn’t it?

x


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter I wrote was too long, so I cut it in half. You get two chapters today! xD

The next morning Amanda called me as I was getting ready for work. She actually called me! I stumbled straight over my work shoes to get to my phone.

“You ok, Dad?” she asked, seemingly careful since the unusually sappy message I’d left in her voicemail.

“Yeah! Yeah, I’m great,” I said, which wasn’t even a lie at this precise moment. I couldn’t help but grin. “It feels like I haven’t heard your voice in ages.” That was uncool to say. But hey, I wasn’t here to be cool, I was here to be her dad.

She laughed. “I miss you too.” There was a pause, and I noticed how quickly she changed the subject. We had the same evasive maneuvers. “Remember my roommate?”

How could I not? By some heinous crime of the universe, it turned out her roommate’s name was also Emma, but mercifully enough it seemed like everybody called her by her surname, which was Foley. Sometimes life gives your bad memory lemons but also makes the lemonade for you.

“She managed to convince the RA that she needed a bearded dragon to help with her anxiety,” Amanda said. “So now we’ve got a scaley buddy!”

“What’s his name?”

“ _Her_ name is Winnifred.”

“And is Winnifred helping with Foley’s anxiety?”

“Of course not. But she eats live mealworms, it’s pretty gnarly.” She said this with utmost appreciation, like a connoisseur of the lizard arts.

Man, I’d missed her. “Man, I missed you.”

“What have you been up to?” she asked me.

Well, that was a stickier subject.

It would be hard to explain that our neighbor was a demon who may or may not have the hots for me, in a demony way. Not really phonecall material.

The alternative topic was Robert and how I’d kissed him pretty thoroughly last night on the sofa. I suspected Amanda knew more about my feelings for Robert than she let on--she was a wily one--but I knew how they were still a little awkward around each other, and I didn’t want her to feel any weird family pressures when she had her own things to worry about at school.

“I’ve been hanging out with Robert.” There, that was a good compromise.

“Oh man,” said Amanda. “I’m not there to protect your virtue.”

Ok, she was very wily.

“By the time you get back, we’ll have started a motorcycle gang,” I said.

“First a cat, now a hog? I really was your only impulse control, huh Pops?”

“My spirit can’t be tamed, Amanda.”

We carried on like that, talking about nothing in particular. I grilled her about her classes and campus life, but let her stay vague where she wanted to. I hoped she was alright. She sounded a lot better, at least.

Finally, I had to initiate the goodbye I-love-yous because I did have to go to work, and she helpfully said “pew pew” over the phone, so that I could hear her finger guns were still locked and loaded at all times.

When I went out into the kitchen to get one last cup of coffee for the road, I must have been grinning like a lunatic because Robert looked up from the sports page to give me a tentative smile as well. He looked sleepy, huddled up at the table with his own coffee and some toast. It was weirdly domestic. It felt like I ought to kiss his cheek and say “Have a good day, dear” on my way out.

Instead I got my coffee and said, “I should be home around three.”

To my surprise he slipped me a pocket knife. I noticed a symbol had been etched into its red plastic casing, a circle similar to the one on his hand but with less spokes.

“Just in case,” he said. “It’ll work on--”

“I think I’m getting the hang of this stuff, yeah,” I said, stuffing it deep into the bowels of my briefcase.

His smile had morphed into something closer to a smirk.

“Have a good day, honey,” he said, with complete irony.

x

Robert seemed to have no intention of leaving, and I had no intention of kicking him out, so he stayed “watching over me” into the week. Surprisingly, there wasn’t much fuss about it between us. It was somehow natural to simply be in each other’s space without qualifications, perhaps because of how much time we tended to spend together already.

Or maybe we’d both just needed a good kiss to sort ourselves out.

Whatever the reason, Mary also dropped by frequently, and I began to get a feeling for how often she and Robert still drank together. She would bring her own booze, unsatisfied with mine, ranging from hard liquor to a bottle of red wine in both her fists. When she brought the wine, she also brought the wine opener I’d gotten her for her birthday. She didn’t mention it at all, but she maneuvered it with smooth dexterity, like she used it all the time now. I was touched.

The same night as the wine, I threw questions at her about the sigils she used, still sitting in my work clothes and tie at the kitchen table. It had been a long day, but there hadn’t been any Joseph sightings outside the Christiansen household since Monday.

“Each symbol has its own purpose,” she said. “Obviously. What are you even asking?”

“Well, Robert gave me a knife,” I said. It was still in my briefcase, but I tried to describe the symbol on it, using my hands awkwardly. “What’s the difference between that sigil and the one on his hand?”

“Your knife just has a simple ward on it,” she said, wine sloshing as she poured some more for herself. Robert tipped his own glass toward her in entreaty, but she ignored him stingily. “It works the same as if you just throw a piece of paper with that symbol on it at somebody with bad vibes--it’ll burn ‘em. It’s enough to fight off Joseph or one of the kids in the heat of the moment. But it won’t send them back home and trap them there. For that you need a seal. That’s what’s on Robert’s hand. It’s more powerful because it’s in his flesh. There’s a lot of little rules to these things… The main part you need to remember is to just listen to what I say and do what I fucking tell you.”

“I guess you’re the expert,” I relented, hoping that I looked at least a little like I understood things.

“The ones I put in your house were a whole potpourri,” she continued. “Just everything I could think of, to keep those sons of bitches outside.”

“If your offspring are sons of bitches, does that make you the bitch?” Robert asked, delivered with an impressively straight face even as his eyes glinted.

“You know the answer to that as well as I do, Smalls.”

I got the feeling she was starting to get annoyed by my questions, so I let it slide and finally went to get a glass of my own. These evenings warmed and softened by alcohol were comforting. The way Robert and Mary could make each other laugh, I could almost forget the stress of our circumstances.

But then Thursday afternoon, an otherwise bright and sunny day, a day bringing back some warmth in defiance of fall, I nearly ran over Mary on my way home as she skulked across my driveway. She shot me a bland look. I fumbled open my door, my tie flopping over my arm.

“Are you ok?” I asked, but she ignored me and kept storming up to my door.

I scrambled out to follow her, almost forgetting my briefcase and to cut the engine.

She and Robert were talking quietly in the living room when I entered, their arms crossed. Robert was wearing his usual leather jacket and his hair was tousled, like he’d just been dragged out of a sofa nap.

“What’s going on?” I asked, a little breathless from leaping both the porch stairs in one giant step.

“You’re alright,” Mary said. “And Robert didn’t see anything weird today either.”

“Is that bad?”

I realized Mary had a stack of sigils in her hands, on strips of canvas like the ones she’d put up around my house. Uh oh.

“Joseph and the kids are gone,” she said.

“How did that happen?” asked Robert, his words slow and careful but the tension in his jaw a clear indication of rapidly diminishing cool.

“I don’t know. My seals should still be working…” Mary tapped her stylish shoe on my floor with a nervous thunk thunk thunk. “I thought for sure they’d wind up here, at least.”

Thunk thunk thunk thunk went her foot until all at once it stopped and her lips pursed, all dark lipstick.

“... Mary?” Robert tried.

She swore passionately. “Of course. They want heartache.” She started babbling nonsense that went over my head, something about Joseph feeding, then her eyes went sharp and stabbed right through us. “Whatever’s going on between you two isn’t the only problematic relationship around here. At least from the perspective of entities that would rather feed on misery than warm fuzzies.”

Robert looked confused, but it hit me all at once, and I began swearing passionately as well.

“Damien and Hugo,” I said. “Joseph and the kids will try to separate them somehow.”

Mary stormed out again with all the fury of a protective older sister, and we scrambled to follow her.

x

Damien’s doorstep was foreboding as usual, with some lovely creeping vines framing the columns this time of year, but no amount of echoing door knocks could roust him.

“Nobody home?” I put words to the obvious.

Mary, Robert, and I were all there, tense but trying to keep the mood as light as possible, despite the fact that Robert was secretly armed with at least three knives and Mary was clutching her sigils.

And then there _I_ was, still looking entirely ready for the office, just with a puny pocket knife in my breast pocket. Did I even know how to open it?

Without a word, Mary whipped out her cellphone and started thumbing a text. She was frowning.

“Would the, uh… the _family_ follow Damien or Lucien out of the cul-de-sac?” I hated to ask more stupid questions at a time like this.

“Mary and I always tried to keep an eye on them whenever they branched out,” Robert murmured. “I wasn’t just at Mary’s birthday party last week for the alcohol. Joseph was there.”

This just kept getting more fucked up.

Mary finally pocketed her phone. “Dames is on his way. I told him there was an emergency,” she said, with the sort of calm that’s three layers deep in forced cynicism. “His house is actually one of the safer ones on the block. I stuck sigils in already when he was renovating with all his Victorian stuff, just basic protections.”

“That’s a little weird, Mary,” I said weakly.

“I have a vested interest in his health.”

“You ready to tell him about this?” Robert asked her, his expression sad.

She wouldn’t look at him, wouldn’t accept that sadness on her behalf.

The good news was, we were interrupted, so she wouldn’t have to suffer that conversation now.

The bad news: we were interrupted by Hugo’s window exploding next door.

It completely shattered with a loud **BANG** , spraying glass across his lawn. Then everything fell horribly silent. It was like no sound could escape his house at all.

The insides of all the windows were pitch black, but no curtains were drawn.

“Shit,” said Mary. She kicked off her wedged shoes right on Damien’s porch and went _bolting_ for Hugo’s house. We followed her.

Hugo’s front door was ajar and we ran in headfirst, Robert whipping out a flip knife from his jacket out of the corner of my eye.

It was chaos.

The living room was in shambles, books thrown everywhere, a whole armchair upended. The darkness enveloped us--every window was black as if looking out on night rather than afternoon, the lights dim, the door behind us quickly obscured by a nebulous cloud of shadow.

Ernest was a shapeless orange-hoodie blob on the floor, covered by an enormous dog who could only be Duchess Cordelia standing protectively over him and barking thunderously.

In the center of the room two figures were rolling around clamped together, crashing against walls, sending art pieces falling and shattering from bookshelves. It was just a huge black mass at first as my eyes adjusted, and then I saw that it was Hugo wrestling desperately with some dark furry beast, like a wolf but bigger. His arms were wrapped tightly around the creature’s bushy neck, its snapping teeth just barely held back from tearing at Hugo’s face. The wolf kept throwing its whole body around the room in an attempt to shake him, dragging Hugo along with it. Hugo was looking beat, his glasses long gone and his face screwed up in waning concentration.

Mary plum scaled the coffee table, barefoot and wild-haired, flipping through her sigils frantically, and Robert was right behind her, his knife reacting to the supernatural darkness, glowing brightly in defiance of it. In all the hustle of bodies and swirling dark, I scrambled to Ernest.

Duchess growled, dripping spit, fully prepared to hurtle a whole lot of dog at me.

“Ernest! Are you ok?”

“What the fuck!” came Ernest’s voice somewhere under Duchess, and Duchess barked again.

Ok, Ernest was swearing, that was a good sign.

A discordant screech of a noise sliced through the room and then the familiar gun-like **BANG!** sounded, repeating over and over, bubbling and popping, stabbing at my ears. A multi-layered crash rang out as a whole bookshelf came tumbling down, but Robert had an arm around Hugo and was dragging him staggeringly away from the fight. The wolf-like monster tumbled and turned, snapping and bellowing. It had a white strip of canvas attached to its back, one of Mary’s sigils, and flopped over itself trying to pry it off, limping and heaving.

It ran itself into a corner and rolled to face us, hackles raised, blood-red eyes gleaming over its enormous foamy muzzle.

“Nobody move!” Mary barked.

With her hand out in front of her, she carefully approached the cornered monster. Her packet of sigils were clamped in a white-knuckled fist at her side… But she wasn’t using them now. She simply kept walking toward that occupied corner, her bare feet feeling out the carpet in front of her, hand outstretched. She turned her palm upward, as if in entreaty.

“Chris?” she said.

The monster belted out a noise that didn’t sound like a wolf at all. It sounded like the ear-piercing screech when you hold a microphone too close.

Mary didn’t flinch.

“Chris,” she said, not raising her voice. “It’s Mom.”

The creature whined, and then in a voice like television static it moaned “ **HUNGRY**.”

“No excuses. You need to go home now, Chris.”

**BANG BANG BANG** the noises were getting louder, reaching a fever pitch, and the darkness circling the walls roiled and squirmed.

“Chris!” Mary said sharply, and all at once the darkness surrounding us seemed to all get sucked into that corner, concentrated into a tangible point of black…

Then it was gone. Sunlight came through the windows. And crouching in the tiniest sliver of remaining shadow in that corner, the monster had been replaced by Mary’s eldest son.

He had his arms crossed, his cheeks wet and red with tears.

Mary took another barefooted step closer, but still kept her distance, hand extended.

“Honey,” she said, her voice cracking slightly. “I know you’re upset. Mom and Dad failed you. But I need you to go home now.”

He sniffed. I’d never seen him like this. He’d always just been quiet and brooding… But of course a kid notices, doesn’t he? When his parents don’t love each other.

“I’m sorry,” said Mary. “I’m doing my best and it’s not good enough. But Mom and Dad love you, ok? We love you, but you need to go home. It’s not a request.”

His shoulders shook, and then he let out a wail, something painful that warped and turned unnatural, twanging and scratching and so very loud that it shook the floor beneath us. Then another **BANG** and it was like he disappeared in on himself, and a gust of powerful wind went hurtling out the broken window, leaving us in the wreckage of Hugo’s living room.

Silence fell, ringing after all the noise. Chris was gone. He went home.

Mary’s outstretched arm flopped limply to her side. Her back was turned to me, so I couldn’t see her face.

Robert dragged Hugo over to the sofa, knocking aside some fallen books so Hugo could sit properly. Man, Hugo looked bad. He wasn’t bleeding anywhere, but his sweater had two large gashes down the front and his bowtie was askew. His hair was a wild nest all around his gray face.

I hurried over to him, and Ernest was close behind me, finally squirming out from under his protector to check on his dad. Duchess stuck solidly to the teen’s side like he was her own overly large pup.

Hugo looked blearily up at us. Robert gave him a steadying pat on the shoulder and Hugo swallowed.

“I’m alright,” he said gruffly. “I’m… I think I’m alright.”

“Nothing broken?” Robert asked.

Hugo laughed jumpily. “Well… Have you seen my house?”

“Dad put that fucking werewolf in a full nelson!” Ernest sputtered, voice wavering.

“It wasn’t even a half nelson,” Hugo said, still sounding stunned and winded. “But thank you.”

“That doesn’t really change the fact your first instinct is to wrestle a monster,” I pointed out.

Hugo blinked a few times, as if it had just occurred to him that was a little weird. “I had to protect my son,” he said.

Ernest stuffed his face into Duchess’ shoulder with a noise that sounded almost like a sob.

I forgot sometimes how young Ernest still was.

Mary came over to us, stepping carefully over books and broken picture frames, skirting the fallen bookshelf. She was fixing up her hair, face grim.

“Seems like your house attracts dogs,” she said to Hugo.

“I’m honestly waiting to wake up.” Hugo’s grin was pretty desperate and wobbly.

“I have a lot to explain,” said Mary. She took a long look at Ernest, who was wiping his nose on a hoodie sleeve and still pressed close to his dog. “You hurt at all, kid?”

“M fine…” Ernest grumbled sourly.

Duchess seemed to recognize Mary, giving a jowly dog smile and falling out of attack mode. She was perhaps the only one here who was perfectly happy, now that everybody was safe and sound. In fact ecstatic, to a degree that only dogs can reach.

For a long moment we all just breathed.

Then we slowly became aware of a sound at the back of our consciousness. A muffled warble from upstairs.

A baby was crying.

Hugo didn’t have a baby.

I turned to Mary, who had gone horribly pale. Whatever was upstairs had her far more worried than Chris. She was all business immediately.

“Hugo, Ernest, go next door to Damien’s,” she said, already hoisting Hugo to his feet roughly. “Don’t ask, we’ll talk later. There’s a spare key under the doormat. Damien’s house is safer than here, it has protections.”

“Crish?” Robert asked warily, eyes on the ceiling, and she turned to him with an open hand.

“Give me your knife,” she said.

He placed it in her hand without question and pulled another from his jacket in the same easy motion. She started rifling through her sigils, so quick and nervous that she dropped heaps of them on the floor.

She seemed to find the one she wanted and wrapped it around the knife handle, raising the knife in one hand and holding it pointed downward, ready to stab with all the force of her arm.

“Go with Hugo,” Robert said to me. His free hand cupped at my hip, protective.

Hugo and Ernest were already tentatively creeping toward the door, leaning on each other, Hugo’s hand hooked in Duchess’ collar. They kept shooting us worried looks.

“I want to help,” I said.

Robert frowned and geared up for protest, but Mary slapped the rest of her sigils into my hands.

“We need all the help we can get,” she said gravely.

With a final nod at Hugo and Ernest, the confirmation they needed to get out to safety, Mary led us toward the stairs.

Up above, the division between the normal lighting of downstairs and the shadows engulfing the upper level was a stark black line.

x


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I uploaded two chapters today so make sure you read chapter 9 before this one! ; )

Robert hung at my side, a comforting presence, even as he was holding a glowing knife out in front of him.

The three of us crept down the hallway of Hugo’s upper level, past a dark bathroom. The shadows pulsated around us, clinging to the walls like something slimy and alive. They got darker and darker as we approached what must be a bedroom at the end of the hall. We could hear the bubbling wails of a crying child...

Mary was in the lead.

“The baby is the most dangerous,” she said, her own knife still held level with her head, elbow at a right angle.

“I thought you told me none of them were dangerous until Joseph went after George,” said Robert.

“I may have neglected some details,” Mary muttered. “But the baby never left the house. I was the only one it ever messed with.”

Her face was white as a sheet.

We came to a closed door, and her hand curled on the doorknob. The darkness enveloped her fingers, like she was sinking her hand into water.

“Stay grounded,” she said. “Don’t believe it if you start seeing things that aren’t real.”

Before we could ask for clarification, she pushed the door open and stepped inside.

It was a master bedroom, probably Hugo’s, but it was cast into deep undulating shadow. The darkest concentration of blackness seemed to be a large mass right on top of the bed, and from it grew long, sharp spikes like the spines of a sea urchin, branching out. As we stepped in, watching anxiously, new spikes continued to grow from this center, long and sleek and black, reaching from the bed all the way to the far walls and sinking in, cracking the wood paneling.

It was hard to approach. So much of the room was already filled with these spines, it was like a glistening sharp maze.

“Is that Crish on the bed?” Robert asked.

“Yeah,” said Mary. “Don’t go easy on it.”

We all fumbled our way forward, trying to get to the center of this spiny blob on the bed, but the closer we got, the heavier the air became and the closer together the spikes grew. It kept getting harder to find a path forward. I could barely breathe through a sweet stink of rot surrounding us.

The baby cried and cried, long keening yells.

Then my vision began to blur. My hands felt blindly in front of me, pressing against the cool sides of the spikes, and where were Mary and Robert? Were they still at my sides?

All at once I couldn’t see at all, nor could I feel the ground under my feet.

I was floating.

x

I was floating in water, or perhaps in nothing at all. Vague impressions wavered around me, like light rippling underwater. I couldn’t quite focus on anything.

I was sinking. It was dark. I heard familiar voices and saw familiar pictures flitting across my consciousness.

Memories… These were memories. Were they even my own memories?

Trickling through my brain, I heard the telephone call that changed my life years ago, the voice reverberating like my ear had held a copy of it all this time… A hospital tech telling me I was Alex’s emergency contact… Telling me the love of my life was gone, just like that, my calls left unanswered for a reason I couldn’t possibly have anticipated…

Yet as I was hearing this, I wasn’t seeing my old kitchen where I’d received that call in real life. I was seeing the interior of a car, a completely different one than Alex’s.

Robert was driving. There wasn’t any gray in his hair. He was drunk, and so was the woman in the passenger seat. They were arguing.

He was driving just as drunk as he was talking.

The squeal of brakes…

I was surrounded by water. The memories, both familiar and unfamiliar, rushed together, churned, and I was looking up from the bottom of the sea, watching a large shape slowly sinking towards me. Was it another car? Different than the others?

Cars… Water… Death… Loss…

With a lurch I was in a hospital holding a newborn baby in my hands.

Amanda. My daughter.

No. It was a different daughter. With Robert’s hands I raised the baby to Robert’s lips and kissed her fuzzy forehead.

Then it was blond twins…

I was laughing with Amanda in our new home on moving day. She hugged me around my middle.

_Memories to make and stuff to break._

I could feel the sun on my face.

I could see Amanda’s face as a child when I told her her mother was dead.

Life and death kept weaving in and out of each other, like pouring different handfuls of water into the same glass, cresting and falling, swirling together into one big pool that I was sinking into, under under…

A voice was calling me.

Amanda?

Robert?

I loved Robert. I was kissing him. I was kissing Alex. I was kissing Marilyn. I was kissing Joseph…

I was on the lawn of what looked like a college campus, sitting with Joseph, and he was laughing in a way I'd never seen before, reaching a hand for mine, my fingernails painted black...

Mary’s stack of sigils burned hot in my hands and I blinked rapidly. I was still at the bottom of a dark pool looking up at sunlight, so far away, except none of it was real, it was all some weird dream…

A voice was calling me.

It was… Mary.

“Wake up, assholes!”

I took the first sigil off the pile in my hands and held it in front of me. The black ink burned bright, breaking through the darkness…

“Wake up!”

With a yank that made my stomach flip, I was pulled straight up out of the water and my eyes opened and I gasped in air and reality.

Obediently, I woke up.

x

I was standing on the floor of Hugo’s bedroom. Dry. Cold. It was dark.

Crish had grown more spikes from the bed, almost filling the entire room. I was fairly walled in where I stood.

Mary was to my left and Robert to my right, partly obscured by the spikes that had so quickly yet stealthily grown into the spaces between us.

“The closer you get to the baby, the more it throws psychic bullshit at you,” Mary told us. “Memories, emotions, from wherever it can grab ‘em… Stay awake. Don’t fall too far into it or I have a feeling you’ll never get out again.”

“Crish has done this sort of thing to you before?” came Robert’s voice, sounding haggard.

“The baby never left the house,” Mary repeated defensively.

Crish’s wails had petered out to plaintive hiccups, the darkness over the bed swelling into another long spike as I watched, inching its way directly toward me. It moved so slowly I was able to step aside easily, staring as it grew right through the space I’d previously occupied.

I reached out a hand, careful, and touched my fingertips to its flat side. It was cold, almost metallic, coming to sharp edges. My face reflected on the black surface, warped, like looking into water.

Mary was swearing under her breath. “George,” she said. “In that pile of sigils there should be a few that have a swirling symbol on them. It looks like… a tornado, or a seashell. We need those.”

I fumbled with the little canvas strips in my hands, but lo and behold, the one on top that had helped me in the dream was exactly what she was describing. It did remind me of a seashell, an elegant swirling cone, tapering to a corner of the canvas. Thumbing through the pile, I found a number of strips with this same symbol.

“What’s it do?” I asked.

“It’s for psychic clarity and, of course, protection,” she said. “We can’t get much closer without getting lost in illusions… I need you to place a circle of that symbol around the room, on the floor. Just a huge circle around the bed. When it’s complete, it should protect us from the baby’s psychic abilities and maybe do something about these spines as well. They’re connected to it somehow… Then Robert and I can get at the bed with our knives.”

This was a big responsibility.

“Mary--” I started, heart in my throat.

But I was interrupted by another voice coming from the open door behind us.

“Honey. Sweetie. What are you doing?”

I turned just in time to see Joseph standing in the doorway in a pink shirt, hands folded over his stomach. With a shriek, Mary was sent flying backwards, yanked straight out of the room, bent double like she was pulled by some invisible string out the door. Joseph’s arms wrapped around her waist, and I could only catch a glimpse of her stricken face before the door slammed shut behind them.

“ _Mary_!” Robert bellowed. But neither of us could get to the door. The spikes were growing faster now, sliding behind us, blocking our way.

“Fuck,” I said, my voice high and strained. These spines were closing us in, crisscrossing and thatching together. “Oh fuck, fuck, _Robert_.”

“We’ll find her,” Robert said, voice harsh. “We just have to do what she said and take care of Crish. Then we can get out of here.”

“I don’t know if I can--”

“Well, I do know. You’re going to be fine.”

I could barely see Robert any more through the spikes. He wriggled his free hand through an opening, reaching for me. I took it and squeezed, our fingers briefly entwining.

“It’ll be ok,” he said, in the way of repeating something, although I wasn’t sure what he was referencing.

I pressed his knuckles to my lips and tried to believe him.

When we parted, I started making my way carefully through the maze of spines, ducking and turning. I found the sigils Mary was talking about and slowly started placing them along the floor in what I hoped was a rough circle. It was hard to tell when I could barely see in front of me, let alone get a good idea of the room overall.

At one point I had to get down on my knees and crawl under a wall of sharp black, belly pressed to the floor. The spikes kept expanding, new ones growing silently around me. I couldn’t see Robert at all, but I could hear his voice.

He was telling me a story, with the barest hint of a tremble, like he was trying to calm himself down just as much as me.

“I met Bigfoot in California,” he said. “After a forest fire. They get those in California. All that dry shrubbery everywhere.”

I tried to listen to him more than to the pounding of my heart as my hands shook placing the sigils.

“I was there as a volunteer firefighter. One day I found myself alone, rooting through the charred remains of a house that had been burned down. Well, mostly alone. I was with my trusty dalmatian, Betsy…”

_Don’t worry about Mary. Don’t worry about Damien and Hugo and Lucien and Ernest. Don’t even worry about this freaking demon baby trying to slowly snub us out. Just keep listening to Robert’s bullshit._

“Up in the hills I saw this man, but it couldn’t be a man. He was too tall, all covered in hair. Betsy, bless her brave soul, went running after him yapping… I tried to follow…”

Unexpectedly I found myself faced with a wall, a real one, the edge of the room. I sifted through my sigils, but there was only one seashell left. I placed it there in the corner.

**BANG**

I clung to the wall as suddenly wind whipped around the room, pulling in toward the center, toward the bed. The whole house groaned, creaked. Was my circle complete? Then the darkness sucked in on itself and suddenly all the spikes in the room retracted, sliding back to the bed into a tiny concentration of black.

The room seemed so much larger without the spikes filling it. Now our only opponent was a small black blob on the bed. It was roughly the size of a baby, but it looked almost gooey, quivering slightly, a black jelly.

Robert was there across the room, and I was usually pretty glad to see him but that paled in comparison to what a relieving sight he was now. He glanced at me with a quick grin.

“Spoiler: it was Bigfoot,” he finished.

He held his free hand out to me, telling me to stay put, and then cautiously approached the blob on the bed, his knife raised.

He stood at the bedside and stared down at it for a long moment.

It giggled and gurgled, the quiet sounds of a contented baby.

I could tell this was hard for him, and I didn’t blame him for it. This was fucked up.

But finally with one last steadying breath, he plunged the blade into the gelatinous mass.

A shriek erupted, a pained squeal, and then **BANG BANG BANG** , all at once every single spike from before shot out again, filling the room instantly, slashing through portraits on the walls, digging into the carpeted floor. It all hung there for a long moment, glinting dangerously.

I stood blinking, then let out the breath that had hitched in my lungs. I was… ok. My cheek stung. One of the spikes had gone past my head so closely it grazed my face like a knife. I raised a hand shakily to dab at spots of blood… But I was alright. That was the closest they’d come to me.

I heard Robert’s knife clatter to the floor and I craned my head trying to find him again between the replenished maze of black barbs.

I spotted him.

My brain couldn’t process what I was seeing.

One of the spikes had gone straight through his chest, protruding thick and glistening from his back.

Then with another **BANG** everything disappeared again, this time for good, the crisscrossing spikes and the darkness all dissipating like smoke, the rotten smell thinning until it was barely perceivable, and then it was all gone. The bed was empty, the blankets somewhat rumpled. Crish had gone home. There was so much space in the room again. Light filtered in.

I was staring straight at Robert with nothing between us any more.

But something was still very wrong.

Robert hung on his feet for a horrible wobbling moment. A dark stain was spreading down the back of his jacket from a frayed hole… My throat constricted sickly.

_Oh no… no no..._

My legs were already taking me to him as he crumpled all at once to the floor.

x


	11. Chapter 11

_No no no no no no no no_

The leftover sigils dropped and scattered. I managed to fumblingly catch Robert under his arms, the weight and position buckling my knees so we both went down painfully. He made a wet noise in his throat.

_no no no no no no no no_

There on the floor in a huddled mess of bumping limbs, I turned him awkwardly in my arms. I had to see his face… Careful, oh god… My hands felt like lead, like they weren’t attached to me right, too sluggish and shaking. His head lolled so I held him up gently against my shoulder, cupping my other hand behind his neck, palm pressed to his cheek. He was so pale.

His eyes were open but already so distant and dark.

“Robert…?” Was that even how my voice sounded?

His response turned into a choke.

I forced myself to look down at him slumped heavily in my arms. His chest… His shirt was almost entirely black, his wound obscured by some horrible dark liquid oozing out of him. It wasn’t blood. It was pitch black. This wasn’t normal. Fuck, none of this was goddamn normal. His breathing was so quiet and jagged and getting worse and worse…

He stank of rot, of death.

“Rob.” I held him closer, like I could squeeze him back together. I could feel wetness against my arm, through his back… “What do I do? I-- I need to know what to do.”

He swallowed thickly. The black liquid glistened at the corners of his mouth, and stained his teeth no matter how many times he swallowed. “Just. Keep holding me. Please.”

His voice was an absolute wreck. Through his weak daze I could see he was scared. God… He couldn’t even keep his head up without my help, but he managed to fumble a hand up to cling to my sleeve.

He was dying.

I couldn’t comprehend it. It was happening too fast, it was all so wrong.

_no no no no no no no no_

Was I saying it out loud? Useless words were falling out of my mouth, bumbling and broken and not even stringing themselves together properly... I didn’t know what I was saying. I held his face in my hand and kissed his hair over and over, kissed his forehead.

His eyes slid closed.

There was no way I could tell him everything I needed to tell him. I couldn’t even comfort him now, so scared and fragile against me. I couldn’t _do anything_...

His hand fell from my sleeve and I stupidly tried to reach for it, to pull it back up again, to hold it there. It was all so clumsy. I was gulping down air, my cheek against his forehead, not even crying but it felt like my heart would fling itself out of my throat, like I was dying too. I was panicking, useless--

_He couldn’t die not now it wasn’t fair I loved him I knew he could be who he wanted to be if he just had more time it wasn’t fair I couldn’t lose him now he was scared time was running out and I couldn’t even comfort him--_

The door to the bedroom swung open with a reverberating slam. Mary stood there, pale, leaning heavily against the doorframe, and she stared at me for a long moment piled there with Robert in my arms, as if she couldn’t really see it.

Then she was all sharp and horrible clarity.

“Shit…” I’d never heard her voice pulled so tightly. She crossed the room in long strides and fell to her knees in front of us, fumbling with her cross necklace. “Don’t you fucking dare, Smalls, don’t you even think about it.”

All I could do was watch dumbly as she unclasped her necklace and pulled off the pendant. With her bowed so close to me, I saw for the first time that the cross was engraved… with symbols that weren’t exactly Christian. I vaguely recognized a few of the sigils, but then my glimpse was over because she was pressing the cross firmly against Robert’s chest, right into the wound, the center of all that wet black. He didn’t even flinch, still so heavy and unresponsive.

Mary was hurtling insults at him. She was crying.

“You stupid moron piece of shit sonuva bitch don’t you _dare_ \--”

Moments stretched on, her hand pressing harder, the silence oppressive except for our haggard breaths and pleas mingling together over our friend’s ragdoll body...

Then something happened. With a horrible lurch, Robert coughed, almost jerking out of my arms with the force of it, and then he was gasping and choking and coughing but at least his eyes were open again, at least he was grabbing blindly for me. Mary took the cross away, clutched in a white-knuckled fist, and blearily I began to realize that Robert’s wound had stopped running. The black liquid was disappearing, sinking right out of the fabric of his sweater like water drying. All I could do was stare.

“Fuck,” Robert wheezed, still taking in huge lungfuls of air.

“Fuck you,” said Mary tearfully, her other hand clutching the lapel of his jacket. “Fuck you, Smalls, fuck you.”

I couldn’t get my throat to work at all, but I kind of agreed with her sentiment here. My head spinning, I prodded at Robert’s shirt carefully with my fingers. The black liquid was gone, even the stains were gone, leaving just a torn hole in his sweater. I peeled it open and pressed my fingertips to his warm chest, breathing, whole. There wasn’t even a mark, just that old scar from ages ago, from hurtling over his bicycle with Val like an idiot.

He was ok.

He struggled to sit himself up between our protective coddling. He was still pale, but it was a stunned sort of fear this time, the shock of a close call… His eyes were blinking back to full awareness.

He was really ok.

“Mary--” he croaked.

“Don’t,” she said, scrubbing roughly at her face with the heel of her palm. Her mascara was all raccoon eyes now. Her voice was suddenly so quiet. “Don’t thank me right now. I can’t handle it.”

I thought I’d finally caught a real glimpse of just how tremendous the weight was on her shoulders… and the weight Robert had accepted from her so willingly. Mary was the sort of person who hated needing favors, but there was something unspoken with these two. Something that made it seem like losing him would have finally broken her.

Robert’s gaze moved tiredly to me, his cheek leaning against my shoulder. I swallowed. My heart was still going so fast and erratic that the stillness of my body felt mismatched, like I was gearing to fly right out of it.

“George,” he said.

My mouth thinned to keep from trembling and I pressed a last kiss to his forehead without a word. When I pulled back, he was watching me closely, his eyes comprehending again but unreadable. He ran a flat hand up and down my other arm, like he was trying to rub warmth back into it.

“We did it,” I said, sounding terrible.

Crish was gone.

Before I could muster up any more words, Mary pressed her cross against my cheek. It was still warm, and I wasn’t sure if that was from her hand or Robert’s chest.

“What--?”

“You’re bleeding that black stuff too,” she murmured, and I remembered how that spike had grazed my face. I hadn’t even realized it wasn’t blood… When she took the cross away, my fingers went to my cheek automatically, which was dry and well.

“You’re lucky,” she told us both. “That was a spiritual injury rather than a physical one… Still could have killed you, but it’s easier to fix.”

“How did you know?” I asked.

“I didn’t,” she said darkly, stringing the cross back onto her necklace chain. “I’m glad my dinky charms worked.”

Robert winced and let out a deep breath. A very close call...

“Where’s Joseph?” I asked.

“I stabbed him in the throat,” Mary said, with so much fatigue. “He ran off… I don’t know where he and the twins are, but they aren’t here.”

The silence of an empty house settled in around us. A normal, empty suburban house.

I was beginning to understand why these two liked drinking so much.

We all just sat there on the floor for a long moment, then finally started to our feet. Robert was a little wobbly still, so I leaned him against me. Mary took his other side and we walked him carefully out of the room.

The upstairs hallway was full of light now, so much that we had to blink in it, falling in from a window right in front of us.

“Hugo has a nice home,” I tried, a joke so thin and shaky it sounded more like an anxiety attack ready to happen.

We all three laughed to keep from crying as we met the stairs back down into the wrecked living room, propping each other up shoulder to shoulder.

x

Hugo and Ernest weren’t exactly making themselves at home at Damien’s next door. From the way they tensely met us in the foyer, I wouldn’t be surprised if they’d been pacing anxiously around the house the entire time. Duchess followed them, cheerfully oblivious to what was the matter, now that her family was safe and sound.

Hugo offered the shoes Mary had abandoned on the porch and she slipped them on ruefully.

“Everybody alright?” he asked us.

I glanced at Robert, who said “Yeah.”

It wasn’t long before Damien and Lucien showed up. Damien was in his work clothes again, glasses and purple shirt, but he didn’t have time to ask too many questions before Lucien started coughing and had to pull an inhaler out of a belt holster that I’d thought for sure was for something cooler than an inhaler.

“Nerd,” Ernest said, still shaky but perhaps finding comfort in their delinquent little friendship.

“Whatever, zit face,” Lucien wheezed.

“Do you need your nebulizer?” Damien asked, perching his hands on Lucien’s shoulders, but Lucien shook his head, shooting Duchess a glare. “He’s very allergic to dogs,” Damien explained. “He gets asthma--”

“Dad, I’m fine.”

“If Duchess would forgive me for closing her into the kitchen for now…”

Ernest and Mary managed to lead the poor confused heroine away. Then we all convened in the parlor, Lucien sniffing snottily.

It was time again for explanations. Where did Mary find the energy for this?

With Hugo and Damien sitting close together on the sofa, and Lucien and Ernest taking up the remaining space, Ernest perched on the arm rest with his hands in his hoodie pocket, Mary stood across the room and started telling her story. It was familiar to me, of course. It was strange to be on this side of it now.

Robert and I hung a few steps behind her, watching and available for reinforcement if needed, but she poured out the information with slow precision, like on some level she’d always known she’d be telling this to Damien, if not his boyfriend as well.

She filled Damien and Lucien in on what happened at Hugo’s house, and why Damien’s mansion was one of the few safe places in the cul-de-sac right now.

“That monster that attacked you was my son,” she said to Hugo. “That was Chris.”

She told them briefly about our encounter with Crish as well, although omitting a number of the more stressful details. Somewhere in the middle, Robert abruptly turned his back on us and left down the hall.

I wanted to follow him, see if he was ok, but I also knew somewhere in my gut that I couldn’t leave Mary alone with this presentation. She needed _someone_ in her court for this.

So I stayed, and I listened, and I tried not to be too distracted by all the emotions passing over the audience’s faces.

She told them everything. How her whole family got this way. How she’d been watching over them for three years, mostly alone. The neighborhood’s best kept secret. We’d always expected that was the Christiansens but never like this. She offered the pictures on her phone, the same proof she’d given me. Even Lucien’s jab of “What the hell kind of joke, Auntie?” died in his throat.

Finally she finished, with a flippant gesture of her hand, but it was belied by the tightness of her jaw. Her makeup was still smeared from our scuffles with her family. She looked crazy, and also very tired.

Should I do something to back her up? The men on the couch were struck silent.

But then Damien stood. With steady purpose, he circled the coffee table to his sister and hugged her.

She seemed to melt somewhat in his embrace. I hadn’t realized how stiff her posture had been this whole time, until every piece of her went softer and her arms wrapped around her brother in turn.

She would be ok now.

As Hugo and Ernest and Lucien stared, my eyes dropped and I turned to the hall. I wasn’t really needed here any more. But I could at least check on Robert.

x

I found him pacing Damien’s packed library. It was a richly dark room with big bookcases lining the walls, boards of taxidermied insects hung like paintings, and low chairs mostly covered with extra books. Robert had his cellphone to his ear and his other hand stuffed into his jacket pocket, walking slowly back and forth across the carpet.

“...Yeah,” he said quietly. “Weather’s been decent. Warm for this time of year.”

I’d never known Robert to engage in small talk so earnestly. He was frowning, his eyes somewhat shifty like he was cornered.

“Yeah. Yeah, you too. And Bianca. Take care.”

Hanging up seemed like a relief. He looked directly at me afterwards, more aware of my presence than I’d thought.

“Sorry,” I said.

“Nah… It was just Val,” he said, sliding his phone into the back pocket of his jeans and looking uncomfortable. “I just, uh. Wanted to call her.”

I nodded, my neck feeling tight. Of course he’d want to talk to his daughter after almost dying. Even if it was awkward nothings about the weather.

I stepped tentatively toward him and he let me, his arms hanging still at his sides. The barest glimpse of skin was visible through the slouching hole in his sweater. I hooked my finger in it, my knuckle brushing the hair of his chest. He was so warm and alive and normal.

“I can fix this,” I offered. “Amanda’s clothes grow holes like nobody’s business so I’ve learned some dad hacks in my time.”

He smiled crookedly.

“Dunno about the jacket though,” I continued. I was rambling. “I’m not really a leather worker.”

“My favorite jacket,” he griped.

“Well, think of the stories you can tell about how it got that hole.”

“Not sure my imagination is as wild as the truth.”

“Don’t undersell yourself. Your bullshit is top tier.”

We fell silent, and I found myself awkwardly adjusting his sweater, pinching the hole shut, straightening the lapels of his jacket. His arms were still at his sides, just letting me fuss with him.

“You okay?” he asked finally.

I almost laughed. I wasn’t the one who almost died.

“It just feels good to take care of you,” I said. My eyes glued themselves to some point at his throat, to carefully avoid meeting his face.

“Dad instinct,” he deadpanned, and I snorted.

For a long moment I wasn’t sure if I should say what I was thinking. Then his hands finally came up to my elbows, barely touching but there, his arms casually framing me.

“I couldn’t help you,” I murmured. My hands were still at his jacket, thumbing the softened leather. I could smell the cigarette smoke that seemed to be ingrained in it, and could see the age old fluff of dog hair stuck under the studs. “I don’t know. That’s it, really. I couldn’t help you or comfort you or anything.” I stopped, swallowing down the emotions that clawed up my throat just thinking about it. I still couldn’t look at his face, not right now.

His knuckles brushed my arms, a gentle almost idle contact.

“Do you even remember what you said to me?” he asked softly.

“No.” I croaked out an ugly laugh to try and lighten the panic creeping back into me. “No, I… I don’t think I was really aware of what I was doing.”

“You just kept telling me it would be okay,” Robert said. “And that you loved me.”

“O-oh.” I’d had no idea what I was so desperately blubbering back then.

His hands slid behind me, palms flat against my back, pulling me closer. My work shirt was a total mess… The pocket knife still hung in my breast pocket, an awkward lump between us as he pulled me against his chest.

“I’m not ready to die,” he said, slowly and roughly, like the words scraped raw at his throat. “That’s all I could think about. Regrets... and fear. But, uh. Back there… What I mean is, it would have been a lot worse without you there with me. Without you saying what you did. I felt... safe. You took care of me just fine, George.”

I couldn’t handle this. I couldn’t handle hearing this wrapped up in his arms and warmth and familiarity. I had to step back and he let me go, let me turn and walk stiffly to the butterflies in a glass case hung on the wall. I just had to breathe or I would fall apart.

“Sorry,” I croaked, rubbing at my hair. “Sorry I’m so…”

Out of the corner of my eye I could see him shake his head, but it seemed he’d run out of words too.

I stared at the butterflies stabbed through with pins. Perfect image, huh?

“I’m just glad you’re ok,” I said.

He grunted.

I was calming down, deep breath by deep breath.

“Is there anything I can do for you?” I asked.

“No... No, George, you’ve done enough.”

Navigating emotions this overwhelming had never been our strongsuits.

I couldn’t help but think of Alex. I wasn’t that young anymore. I’d lost friends too, people I loved.

_Stop, idiot. Robert’s right behind you. He’s fine._

Why couldn’t my brain just accept that he was fine?

He shuffled his feet, boots awkwardly scraping across the carpet.

“It still blows my mind I got somebody like you to love me,” he admitted quietly.

I don’t know what came over me then, except all at once the tears I’d been trying to evade were biting my eyes, and I wheeled around and stormed over to him so I could look him dead in the face at last.

“You’re a good man, Robert,” I said firmly, believing it as fiercely as I’d believed anything in my life.

Whatever strength that took must’ve crumbled, my face must’ve gone to absolute shit, because he looked briefly alarmed and closed the space between us, cupping my face in his hands. I broke and hung my head, pressed my forehead into his shoulder, and he brought me into his arms again, hugging me tightly as I busted out crying against his chest.

His hand was at the back of my head, brushing through my hair.

“It’s gonna be okay.”

I wasn’t sure either of us knew who those words even belonged to any more.

x


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ring a ding ding it's update time! Some of you may have already noticed this one was slower in coming (... or was it? it felt slower). Anyway, I'm back at school now so the next few chapters might take longer than the breakneck speed they've been flinging out of me thus far, just to let you know. (I haven't been at school in three years... sendhelpimdying) I'm still writing this though and having a lot of fun. Thanks so much, while I'm at it, for the amazing support ya'll have provided me on this bizarre little adventure. I'm honestly so stunned and excited ;v;

We stood there for a long time in Damien’s library, a little awkward maybe, but we refused to pull completely away from each other just yet.

Robert’s wrists hung lazily at my shoulders, close to my neck. His knuckles brushed hair away from my cheek, but a particular group of strands just kept falling back again and gave him a rhythmic motion to do, fingers carding through hair repeatedly, gentle, sometimes giving a slight pull that I’d feel in my scalp. It grounded me.

My hands were at his waist, thumbs hooked through his belt loops under the warm ends of his jacket. We were close enough that I thought I could feel the heat of his chest against mine, even though they weren’t touching anymore.

I noticed color returning to his face. He’d been so pale and severe since Hugo’s house, that I’d started getting used to it. He didn’t smile, but his eyes sat dark and warm in a frame of familiar wrinkles, watching me wordlessly.

At some point, his thumb crept up to smooth down one of my eyebrows. Why’d he like my eyebrows so much? But I sighed quietly and closed my eyes because I could think of plenty of small details I liked about him too, for no reason I could particularly explain.

My eyes were all heavy and scratchy from crying, but the tears had dried and been wiped away. The tall windows looking out onto Damien’s intricate gardens were throwing longer and longer grids of light across the floor as the afternoon grew later. The room was stuffy and warm.

I gave Robert a small kiss, somewhat lopsided, a little more on his bottom lip than the top. It didn’t mean anything really, didn’t have to. It was just what seemed right at that moment.

He did smile then, mostly with his eyes though.

I think we were ready at about the same time to face our friends again.

If Robert and I returned to the living room with slightly redder eyes than normal, it went unnoticed because we weren’t the only ones humbled by today’s events. Damien, of all things, was serving tea from a fancy platter. Again, it always seemed to be the mundane that we clung to, the small boring pieces of normalcy that somehow reminded us we were human. Loud muffled music came from the closed door to Lucien’s room, suggesting that the two teens were looking for that same normal in their own way.

When we walked in, Damien glanced up over his glasses and perhaps he noticed the closeness in how we walked or some mutuality in our relief, because he smiled small and knowing.

He served Mary first, sprawled on the sofa in a most unladylike fashion. Her legs were crossed, and she clearly didn’t care how much this made her skirt rise up, showing off bony knees in brown pantyhose. She didn’t want tea, as always, but he gave her a teacup saucer of sugar cubes and she started sucking on one immediately.

Hugo was sitting beside her, and Damien gave a little huff, almost a laugh, as Hugo accepted his cup and some milk. All at once, before Hugo could take a sip, Damien rested his platter on the coffee table and started smoothing out Hugo’s hair with both hands. It was in utter chaos from monster wrestling, of course. They both seemed to have just now noticed…

Hugo grinned self-deprecatingly, and let Damien fuss over him. When it wasn’t tied up, Hugo’s hair was a big mane of wavy brown.

Robert and I approached the platter on the table and served ourselves, after verifying that the two extra teacups were indeed for us.

“It’s an Earl Grey with vanilla that I find particularly soothing,” Damien said. “Familiar, perhaps.”

He was such a skilled host still, even in his IT uniform and even in this unbelievable clusterfuck we’d all found ourselves in. If I were feeling just an ounce more maudlin I’d say his sagacious gothness went straight to the marrow of his bones.

We had a quiet tea as Damien finally served himself.

Then to everyone’s surprise, including Hugo’s, Damien slid himself onto Hugo’s lap. Hugo adapted well enough, shifting his tea to another hand so he could loop the correct arm around the small of Damien’s back. Mary crunched her sugar cube pointedly.

And that, quite simply, was that.

x

Unfortunately, our work wasn’t done. Robert and Mary and I all knew the missing pieces that still hadn’t been resolved, lurking darkly throughout our rest.

“I’ve got to head home,” Mary said finally. “I need to make sure the new sigils I put up are working this time.” She paused, then added, “I want to check on Chris.”

“Joseph and the twins are still out there,” Robert supplied. “You could use some help rounding them up.”

“Please let us help,” Damien piped in immediately.

Mary waved a hand, as if irritated, but I thought she might actually have a slight flush in response to this attention. A person who hated needing help.

“You four are prime targets,” she said. “You’re the ones who have been attacked. It would just make more trouble for me.”

“There’s five of them and one of you, Mary,” I said.

She stared me down for a long time, so long in fact that I started shrinking under it.

She pointed at me, then at Robert. “You two,” she said. “You two can come. Dames, you and Hugo and the kiddos stay here where it’s safe.”

“I must protest,” Damien began, and Hugo was gearing up for a rebuttal as well, but Mary pointed again, this time at the door to Lucien’s room, still emitting music.

“They need you,” she said simply.

Whether she actually cared or was just using an underhanded tactic guaranteed to work was hard to tell, but the two dads relented, as any dads would. Damien stepped forward and hugged her again.

“Please say goodbye to Lucien,” he murmured. “He loves you and he’s worried.”

“I love him too,” Mary said, almost absently, but she obeyed, stopping by the teen room on her way out. Meanwhile, Damien slipped distractedly back into his role as host, hiding his own worry behind figuring out how to properly offer his home to the Vegas for an extended stay.

Leaving our friends behind in their half-safety, half-prison, the three of us walked to the Christiansen house. It was such a nice day, warm and much too sunny for the proceedings. I was still in my work clothes, my nice shoes rubbing a pretty good blister into the meaty foot bit just below my toes.

The house was so disturbingly nice too, with its big blue anchor cutout.

Mary opened the front door and woah. There were even more sigils bordering it than at my house.

Inside was cold, the crisp chill of a comfortable suburban home with ample air conditioning, yet also it made goosebumps run up my back.

The lights were all out but Mary flicked them on as she led the way in deeper, past the pristine living room, into the kitchen and beyond. On the other side of a stairwell was a small sunroom, or what would have been one except all the curtains were drawn. This was where Chris sat in an armchair, blond hair flopped limply over his ears.

He looked up sourly, holding a large bundle of blankets to his chest, which emitted a worried sound but sighed itself to silence again with a few bounces in Chris’ arms. The baby.

“Are you alright?” Mary asked.

Chris just glared.

“Can you leave the house?” she asked.

“No.”

“Good. You’re grounded.”

He stood abruptly, and marched to the stairs, immediately clomping up them.

“Chris!”

He ignored her.

With a hand on the bannister, she made a frustrated noise. “Chris, talk to me. I’m _sorry_.”

A door slammed upstairs, then all went silent.

He hadn’t been a wolf, but it was still hard to know what to gather from that conversation, at least until Mary rapped her fingernails on the railing and said, “It’s working. He’s pissed because he’s stuck here again.” She didn’t sound happy about it though. She sounded terribly sad.

“Mary… How were you able to send Chris back home before?” I asked her. It felt like I had to lower my voice in this atmosphere, so it came out just louder than a whisper. “I thought only something like Robert’s tattoo could do that.”

“Dunno,” she said, watching the darkness upstairs where the monster shaped like her son had presumably gone to his room. She just kept watching for awhile, then finally sighed, and started back out, wedged heels thunking. “Sometimes they just listen to me.”

x

We had three more Christiansens to find. Mary was like a general in the way she barked out orders to Robert and I as we circled all the houses in the cul-de-sac, looking for any signs of Joseph and the twins’ whereabouts.

“Hopefully they won’t attack now that their favorite targets are hidden away,” she said. “Or even better, they’ll go right for you two as bait. But their behavior has been so erratic, even with how they broke out of the house in the first place… We just have to be careful.”

“Where would they have gone?” Robert asked.

“Who knows?” she said. “That’s the shit of it. But they are still grounded to the cul-de-sac. They might be hovering around people who live here still, as their next option. Not necessarily to attack, but at least to feed on normally, like they always do.”

“I thought they fed on negative emotions,” I said.

“There’s a lot of single guys around here and kids with struggling parents,” Mary said, in a way that sounded like she definitely thought I was an idiot. “I told you already--the food is plentiful.”

Brian was the only one home of the houses we checked, and he hadn’t seen Joseph at all. He and Daisy were sunbathing in their front yard on bathroom towels, looking perfectly safe and unperturbed. Were Brian and Daisy struggling people, with sad feelings for demons to feast on? It was hard to think about those quiet intimacies left hidden from acquaintances…

I shot a quick text to Craig who responded immediately with something awful.

“Craig’s got a softball game,” I moaned.

“The twins do like games,” Mary said. “Mat’s no doubt at the Coffee Spoon.”

“Plan of attack?” Robert asked.

Mary thought on it. “You two head for the softball,” she said. “It should be safer for you with more people around, especially all that energy.” She snapped her fingers at me. “You still have your pocket knife?”

“Yeah,” I squeaked.

“Good. Use it this time.” She grinned at me, but at least it was the sort of meanness that meant she was joking and therefore probably feeling better. “I’ll check the Coffee Spoon and make sure Carmensita is accounted for too.”

“You’ll be alright on your own?” Robert asked.

“I mean, at Hugo’s I did much better on my own than you two idiots did.”

“Fair point.” But Robert took it more stiffly than their usual rapport, enough that she patted his arm before leaving us.

Robert and I took his pickup to the softball field. He thumbed a jittery beat against the steering wheel and we were quiet, letting our nerves fray and spark and fizzle to themselves.

The parking lot was bordered by a small forest, and already filled with cars (how many of these were vans?) and girls in shorts wielding gatorade bottles. It all curved around a long green field, with a neatly symmetrical baseball diamond at the forefront. This was one of the last games of the season, at least according to one very loudly talking dad we passed by. The Flapjacks vs. The Bluejays. The Flapjacks had already claimed the blue uniform of the league, so the Bluejays were actually black.

It was impossible to find Craig in the swarm of pre-game bodies, but we did almost trip over Briar and Hazel.

“Ugh.”

Hazel had a stick and was poking bravely at the exposed guts of a dead rabbit at the edge of the field.

“Gross,” said Briar. “It’s gross.” But also she had her hand on Hazel’s wrist and was guiding the dissection.

I chided them in Craig’s place, as any bro would, and sent them off to the dugout, but Robert and I remained staring down at the oddly placed carcass. Its head was reared back unnaturally far, almost completing a circle with its drab cottony tail, and intestines ran a stomach-turning pink line trailing away from it. It looked like it’d had a run-in with a coyote, or even a particularly negligent lawnmower.

“It could be a coincidence,” Robert muttered.

“Didn’t you say sometimes dead things appear around them?” I asked. “The Christiansens.”

“Yep.”

Looked like we were in for a softball game.

x

It was hard to focus on the game at all. If half the players were replaced with lizard people, I probably wouldn’t have noticed. Robert and I sat higher than anybody else in the bleachers, to get a good vantage point across the field, and also a little closer to each other than was probably necessary. His whole arm was hard against mine.

He was quieter even than usual, looking a little ashen again. He’d had a helluva day. And now we were probably worrying about the same thing. What if it wasn’t safe here like Mary predicted? What if something went wrong, and we were charged with guarding all these little girls, just the two of us from afar, against an enemy that could come from anywhere?

My eyes kept darting to the trees bordering the parking lot. I could so easily convince myself that I’d seen something move in their long shadows. But all was still.

Meanwhile, the bleachers themselves were a cacophony of overzealous parents, and the jubilant noise was incredibly irritating, jangling the anxious atmosphere around us, screaming reminders in our faces of all the people here we would have to somehow protect in a worst case scenario. I was going to go batshit bananas at this rate. My leg was already bouncing restlessly.

But Robert was worse, I realized. He looked so lost, as if he saw something down in that field of kids that he finally had no idea how to deal with. Robert was always thinking on his feet at such a blinding rate that to see him visibly screech to a stop and stare wide-eyed at something that honest to god frightened him was terrifying for me in turn.

I took his hand in a fit of stubbornness and his big fingers curled around mine belatedly, a delayed reaction. My tapping heel squeaked against the bleacher step.

“You with me?” I asked him.

“Yeah.”

“I’m with you.”

“Yeah.”

I pressed a kiss to his cheek, barely brushing his beard. An older white lady in front of us gave us a passively warning look, the kind she could easily deny if called out about it, and Robert came to life again just enough to flip her the bird as she turned away.

His other hand was still in mine, the hand with the tattoo.

“Val played softball,” Robert grunted.

“Really?” I asked, half expecting him to start spieling a story about how she actually moonlighted as Babe Ruth, somehow or other.

“She was a mean hitter,” Robert said. “I found her old bat not too long ago. It’s fuckin tiny.”

“Amanda was too scared of the ball,” I added onto the tailend of the subdued silence that followed. “Softballs, basketballs, footballs… She’s not a fan.”

“Oh, Val hated softball,” Robert amended. “Looking back, it was always an ordeal, Marilyn and I figuring out who would take her to her games or whatever… We were a mess as parents. And Val hated anything with running. She was still good at it though.”

He was staring down at the blue and black hats of the girls on the bases below.

I was starting to understand what had him so antsy. Kids. This time was different because there was such a glaring possibility that _kids_ would be the ones getting hurt, and Robert knew better than any of us now the truly horrible things that could happen, what these demons were capable of.

It fucked me up too, but I realized he needed me, the same way I’d needed him so many times already.

There was something fortifying in that. I remembered for the longest time I used to have a phobia of tornados, so strong even a windy sunny day would set off anxiety. But I got over it almost completely when Amanda was a kid. Somehow focusing on taking care of her, on soothing _her_ fears, took the bite away from my own worries.

When people have to step up, they just step up.

I didn’t have any good words to calm Robert down--they would all just be bullshit, and Robert preferred silence over bullshit. But I gripped his hand harder and kept my eyes scanning the field, ready, waiting.

One of the Cahn twins hit a homerun, her black hair whipping out behind her as she flung the bat aside to take off running, so Craig had to intercept it before it smacked anybody. As smatterings of the crowd clapped politely, I became aware of the metallic thunk of shoes on the bleachers close by.

I stopped jiggling my leg, but that wasn’t it. They were footsteps.

They were coming from behind us, even though we were sitting higher up than anyone else. I looked over my shoulder and froze.

Joseph was walking calmly down the metal stairs, from the top, as if he had just appeared up there from the sky.

Or perhaps as if he’d crawled out from the darkness under the bleachers, right up the back, behind all these unknowing sports parents of Maple Bay. An impossible feat for a human, but for a long-armed twisting creature…

It was hard to imagine, considering how normal he looked. He was wearing his pink shirt, a sweater’s arms tied over his shoulders. His face was clean and handsome as ever, his hair neat but also just not-neat enough to be charming. You’d never guess his wife had stabbed him in the throat only hours ago.

Robert and I were both staring at him now, as he came and calmly sat right beside me.

Robert shifted immediately on my other side, and I had to catch him with my arm across his chest.

“You can’t just stab a man in front of all these people,” I hissed in his ear.

Robert’s face was frigidly blank, but his eyes looked cornered, the barely contained desperate energy of a caged animal.

I swallowed, trying to keep from shaking. He needed me. Those kids needed me. I had to find a way to do this right.

Joseph was fiddling with his hands, as if he was the one who was nervous.

“I won’t intrude for long,” he said, before I could get anything out. “I can see you’re both uncomfortable. And maybe also having a moment to yourselves that I’ve interrupted.”

He glanced at us sideways and I grimaced.

“I just want to say my piece,” he said. “In my defense. There’s a lot of the story you don’t know about. My side of it, namely.”

“Sounds like you’re trying mighty hard to convince us you’re not shit,” Robert spat. His fear was turning into a bristling anger that hunched his shoulders.

“Oh no, I already know that’s an impossible task with you, Rob,” said Joseph wryly, but perhaps with a flicker of something more genuine and tumultuous in his eyes. The gray bits of the blue. “I’m trying to clear things up with George, who called me his friend.”

Robert tsked. I’d moved our still-clasped hands onto his thigh and was pressing them both down, my silent warning. His opposite hand was very close to his jacket pocket, where a knife lay hidden. But I was holding the tattoo hand, the one with the seal.

I regarded Joseph head-on, and he met my gaze.

“I’m listening,” I said.

“Thank you.” He folded his hands firmly, to stop them fidgeting. I knew those ticks of his still. He and I were similar with them… although that thought made so much less sense now. How could I possibly know anything about Joseph with the possibility that none of this facade was even real? “I know you’ve been talking to Mary, and I’m sure she’s held nothing back with her opinions of me,” he said. “Normally I’d just cut my losses… That’s how these things work. But you’ve become important to me, George. I think we have a real connection as people and I want you to know the truth.”

I wasn’t sure how to process my eldritch neighbor trying to explain his marriage to me. But I knew as long as he was talking, he wasn’t attacking us. And maybe there was something important in here, some clue, some piece of Joseph still recognizable in this strange world...

“Alright,” I said, and Robert’s grip on my hand was so tight I could feel the crescent indents of his fingernails. I knew if I looked at him he’d be glowering, but I kept my eyes on Joseph.

“Mary has been more unfaithful than me,” Joseph said.

“Like _piss_ ,” Robert snapped.

“Let me finish,” Joseph said, equally sharply. “I know everything, don’t think that I don’t. You’ll probably tell me how she never slept with anyone else, but you know just as well as I do all her flirting is just to upset me. Aren’t I supposed to get upset?”

“Maybe if you hadn’t treated her like she didn’t exist when she _needed you most_ \--”

“Let him talk,” I interrupted, nudging Robert back with my shoulder, sitting solid between them.

Joseph ran a hand through his hair too quickly, coming out more disheveled than he’d probably intended.

“I love my wife,” he said. “It’s just our relationship wasn’t meant to be, not by a long shot. And we’ve trapped ourselves in it. I’ve hurt her, it’s true, but she damn well hurts me too, and doesn’t that mean something?”

His eyes were boring into me, anxiously waiting for my approval.

“I don’t know anything about your relationship,” I said slowly. “But regardless of whose fault it is, it seems like it won’t get better until one of you actually does something about it.”

“And that has to be me?” Joseph demanded.

Robert was leaning over my lap now. “You’re just running away again,” he spat. “You can turn your logic in circles all you want, drag George into it or whoever, but in the end it’s just you running, like you always goddamn have.”

Did Joseph’s teeth suddenly look sharper than usual? “And you don’t think Mary is scared too?” he hissed.

“Joseph!” The old white lady who’d scoffed at us earlier turned just enough to shoot Joseph an enormous grin, waving a little hand. His head snapped to her, smiling sweetly as well all of the sudden. “I didn’t see you there, Joseph! You’ll be running the church lock-in again, I hope? The girls had so much fun last time.”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Joseph said brightly.

When she turned back to the game, he leaned toward me and said with a twinkle of mischief, “That’s Gladys. She’s horrible.”

He smelled like his usual nondescript, clean soaps again. It was weird.

Robert was trying to pull out of the vice grip I had on his hand, but I wouldn’t budge. The last thing we needed was for this whole crowd to panic because they thought Robert was a goddamn murderer.

“Chris and Crish are home alone right now,” I tried. If Mary could send them home with words...

“That’s why I always felt close to you,” Joseph told me. “Because you know what it’s like to raise kids on your own.”

Ouch. He hadn’t intended that to hurt me but _ouch_.

What could I even say about what was intended or not? I was talking to a monster, wasn’t I?

“I’m sorry,” he said. “That wasn’t… what I meant to say.”

“Go home,” I told him.

His eyes were soft, maybe even vulnerable. “George--”

“Go--”

Before I could finish, Robert finally caught me off guard and managed to grab his hand away from mine. He had a knife in it instantly, and before I could shout at him to fucking _stop_ , he’d clapped his other hand over my mouth and shoved the knife into Joseph’s thigh.

Joseph didn’t make a sound, but his mouth gaped impossibly open, lined with teeth and teeth and teeth, unhinging and loling and snarling, and then with a **BANG** he was all at once gone. The parents closest in front of us looked around, startled by the sharp noise but otherwise unsuspecting…

Robert gingerly lowered his hand from my face. In his haste he’d been too rough, and it had hurt me. He knew it too. I could tell by the dejected way he slumped back into his seat beside me, staring ahead with a tight jaw.

For a moment I could only blink at the empty space Joseph had occupied.

I...

I was angry.

“I almost had him,” I said, trying to keep my voice low.

“We don’t know that,” Robert said, but it sounded chagrined. He was frowning down at his hands, thumbing the flip knife he’d used, pressing it at an angle not-quite closed and then letting it pop open again.

I took a few deep breaths, the adrenaline pulsing through me no doubt contributing to an upset I didn’t want to put too much credit in.

Goddammit.

Was I so useless?

“There’s something human in them,” I said.

“We don’t know that.”

“Dammit, Rob, you think Mary would care so much if she didn’t still believe these were actually her kids we’re hunting?”

He stared down at the girls on the field, playing the game he’d perhaps missed out on seeing his own daughter play, caught up in less important things.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. The knife finally closed with a light click.

I ran a hand over my face. Then as it was falling back down, I let it land on Robert’s thigh again, this time with no urgency, only contact.

“One down,” I sighed. “Two to go.”

x


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated wholeheartedly to SMALLISH who totally inspired it, thank you ;v; <3
> 
> ALSO SOME FOREWARNING: Not to be too spoilery but… we’re earning that E rating today, lads. So here’s a quick dysphoria note that George hasn’t had bottom surgery. I tend to be pretty descriptive in smut scenes, but hopefully not overbearing?? Anyway, I just wanted to throw a heads-up so there aren’t any nasty triggering surprises for anybody. Read safely, buds! If you wanna know if anything more specific comes up, feel free to shoot me a message on tumblr or something, I’d be happy to give you the all clear or warn you about it

We got through the whole game without any more supernatural incidents, and the anxiety around us got mixed up with a hopeful sort of relief, leaving us weirdly hollow, still buzzing but tired.

The sun was just setting when the game officially finished, and the parents began to filter down onto the field under a sky all pink and smeared with backlit clouds. Both teams lined up to high-five each other in good sportsmanship, but unfortunately the Flapjacks had lost, and it was clear our blue-clad home team was disappointed their last game had been a flop.

Not even a flop. These girls were merciless, especially the twins. But they still lost, and they all watched the laces of their tennis shoes through their hand slapping ritual with the Bluejays.

Craig was stoked to see Robert and me.

“What, you guys Little League fans?” he asked, grinning in that sorta dumbfounded way he had when something made zero sense but still pleased him greatly. River was less impressed, in fact she was mostly asleep.

“Yeah, you know, we were in the neighborhood,” I said. “Why not support our favorite pancake-themed athletes?”

Robert was full brood. It was unclear whether he was still antsy or just putting on a show for Craig.

We helped the good coach haul a cooler, now emptied of Caprisuns and cheesesticks, back to his car, integrating easily into the flow of parents and tired kids heading towards the parking lot. Hazel and Briar took care of the extra bats, meaning they ran off with them and vented their frustrations on low-hanging tree branches, inspiring a small posse of Flapjacks to join in.

“They’re harmless,” Craig assured us, as the vengeful shrieks of little girls pierced the evening.

We hefted the rest of the supplies into his trunk. The laughter and screaming of the kids kept getting louder, and some unidentified parent finally snapped “Girls, stay out of there!”

“Well, mostly harmless,” Craig said, sounding long-suffering.

I was about to tell him he should relax, but then at least three different suburban moms and one unaffiliated dad all swarmed him at once, like ants on a picnic basket. This poor man. We lost him, there was nothing we could do to save him from such an onslaught of thirst.

“I’m gonna go grab Briar and Hazel for him,” I told Robert, who nodded slowly, with a stricken expression that could only mean he’d just now realized the extent of Craig’s trials as a human being and the grace with which he accepted them.

The Flapjack squadron had apparently gone romping into the woods despite ambient parental scolding.

It wasn’t a deep woods or anything, so it wasn’t overtly dangerous. But the moment Robert and I stepped under the trees, the hair on my forearms stood on end.

There was at least enough of a canopy to feel sealed in, despite the pink sunset dappling in. Was this the place that dead rabbit had once called home? There were too many long shadows and hiding places for my liking. Arching trees, little dark holes in the earth, the front doors of unknown critters. There was no sign of the girls. How far had they gone? The deeper we went, with a springy layer of long-dead leaves and twigs underfoot, I began to wonder if we were looking for the Cahns or for a different set of twins altogether.

I noticed Robert’s left hand was in his jacket pocket, almost casually but I knew very well he’d slipped his knife in there earlier. His shoulders were hunched, still a little too quiet and shifty.

Something rustled on the forest floor, making us both stop in our tracks.

A squirrel probably. Those dumb things were loud for being so small.

“You know… you never finished that Bigfoot story,” I said. I still wanted to make sure Robert was ok.

“Betsy didn’t get eaten that time,” he said. “She kicked Bigfoot’s ass.”

“I was hoping so.”

We heard a giggle. Turning in its direction, though, all we saw was trees.

Had it always been this dark? Was the sun down already?

“Hazel! Briar!” I called and determinedly tromped further, Robert following my lead. “It’s George, your dad’s ready to go!”

Then we heard another shrill scream, this one _not_ fun, pointedly unfun actually, and all at once we were both running in deeper as fast as we could, the underbrush scraping our pant legs.

“Briar! Hazel!!”

We heard the resounding metallic clink of… a baseball bat?

Then we found ourselves in a circle of trees full of girls in blue uniforms. One of them was crying, comforted by another girl in braces, but most of the Flapjacks were running circles around the trees, swinging their bats wildly. More screams… Some fun, some unfun. It was hard to tell if they were excited or scared or both.

They were following something.

Flitting between the trees about a head higher than my height were two large black orbs, the size of basketballs, weaving around each other and then separating, each with a pack of Flapjacks in hot pursuit. The orbs were wobbly and ethereal, like concentrations of roiling smoke, and strange giggling seemed to be coming from all around, two childish voices but warped, like they were travelling through water.

It was almost a nice scene. Except one of the orbs whizzed straight past my head and trailed behind it the stink of death… My closer glimpse of it also wasn’t pleasant. There were little pieces of something inside the bundled knot of blackness… Little white things that crunched as they shifted, rolling through the sphere and briefly bristling to the surface before falling into the black gaseous center again.

I realized all at once what they were… Teeth. Endless tiny square molars squirming grotesquely through the orb.

It whirled its way directly at one of the girls, who shrieked before Hazel jumped in front of her with a bat and took an expert stance like she was at home plate. She swung, hard, and sent the shadowy ball flying back into the trees. It emitted a trail of giggling as it passed by my head again…

The second black ball had inclusions as well, but instead of teeth they were rolling blinking eyes, countless flashes of white and pupil there and gone again. The orbs kept rushing the girls, only to be batted away again by the Cahn twins, who were panting with the exertion but also… smiling.

This was some twisted approximation of fun.

Robert had taken out his knife beside me, and it glowed in the growing darkness.

“Girls, don’t mess with those things,” I tried, startling everyone, and the two orbs abruptly headed right toward me instead, the giggling cut short.

Robert took a good slice at them but apparently they were harder to hit with a knife than a baseball bat. They reared back, shrieking. But not the shriek of a monster. It was another scream of frightened children.

They fled, zipping away into the trees, and Robert and I ran after, the Flapjacks right behind us.

Our longer dad legs took us far and away from them, my knees and work-shoes-clad feet starting to smart. Had we lost them? Surely that was Christian and Christie…

But just as my hope was waning, we spotted them hovering low between the branches of a sycamore tree, amidst the spikey little seedlings hanging all around.

I could hear a child crying. It seemed to be coming from the teeth orb, because the eyes one was circling it quickly, almost nervously, as if unsure how to help.

Robert had his knife out but had frozen, like me unsure whether to be moved or wary. Kids… It was so much more difficult when kids were involved...

I shifted in front of him ever so slightly, the tip of my shoe crunching on fallen sycamore balls.

“Christie…?” I asked slowly. “Uh. Is one of you Christie?”

The teeth orb rolled slightly from side to side.

“I’m sorry we scared you. I’m George. We made cookies that one time, remember? It was a lot of fun.”

The crying was fading to a quiet sniffle. The eyes orb circled more slowly…

“Uh. I ate those cookies, by the way,” I continued. “They were just as good as your dad said. You’re really good at it. I think your chocolate chips were what really sealed the deal.”

The crying stopped and both the orbs were still. I couldn’t tell if they were looking at me, not even the one with eyes, simply because there were so many of them pointed in every direction.

Robert was watching me. I glanced at him and he very slightly inclined his head, expression serious. _Go on_.

“Did you have fun playing with the girls?” I asked the twins.

They didn’t answer but instead of crying I heard another giggle, quiet, even tentative.

“I think they had fun too,” I said, a little alarmed that it was probably true. “All the kids are going home now, though. It’s time for you to go back too.”

A quiet voice seemed to pulsate in the air, from every direction but also no direction at all.

“ **it’s no fun at home**.”

“Well, you can have fun tomorrow. It’s bedtime. Everybody’s gotta go home at some point, right?”

“ **nobody plays with--** ”

“ **\--us it’s no fun--** ”

“ **\--other kids don’t like us--** ”

“ **\--mommy and daddy are too tired**.”

Robert’s fingers at my wrist made me jump. His hand was sliding into mine. I tried not to look away from the… children?

I tried to smile.

“I’m sorry. But you two are young… right? I promise you’ll have fun some other day. You have so many days for it.”

“ **you promise**?”

“Yeah… I can’t say how, but you will. Maybe with Briar and Hazel again. Someday. But someday can’t happen if you never go to bed, right?”

Giggling. The orbs seemed to undulate somewhat at the edges, ebbing and flowing like wisps of smoke.

“ **hey amanda’s dad** ”

“ **come make cookies again someday too?** ”

Somehow my smile wasn’t even fake anymore. “Yeah.” My head was light and spinning, and not entirely in a bad way. “I would love that.”

They circled each other and then with a gunshot noise they disappeared, the leaves and grasses underneath them bowing in a brief sigh of wind and then settling back to normal again. A few sycamore balls fell from the tree.

It was quiet… It wasn’t even that dark anymore, more of a purpley evening.

For the first time in any of this, I felt an inkling of peace.

I turned grinning to Robert and his face was so awed and smiling bewilderedly. I wanted to kiss him, but we were interrupted by a sudden swarm of Flapjacks.

“There you are!” Briar cried. It was harder to tell her and Hazel apart with their hair so tangled and flying around. “Amanda’s dad, are you ok?”

I guess it was a common trait among young twins to not know I had an adult name.

Robert’s hand slipped away from mine and he crossed him arms stoically, but I knew that secret glint in his eyes. He flipped his knife closed and let it sit in the cuff of his sleeve.

“Now, girls,” he said. “What you just witnessed is what we in the business call spirit orbs.”

“What business?” asked the girl in braces, but Hazel shushed her because she and Briar already knew full well that Robert was a cool and mysterious and somewhat frightening man who must be believed always.

“Some might say I’m a hobbyist,” he said. “But I’ve seen enough to turn any ghost-hunting pro white as a sheet. Let me tell you about the different kinds of spirit orbs. They range from little flecks in photographs to what you just saw today. And I’ll tell you about the most dangerous one I ever faced, the Great Ball of Lake Pontchartrain.”

We just stood there, all grouped together in the woods, as Robert rambled out fully fleshed stories, the girls hanging on his every word, and with each new ridiculous embellishment he grew more animated, like the fear was sloughing right off of him, and I could feel myself grinning wider and wider. This tremendous lightness… The girls laughed and were safe.

We all headed back to the parking lot together, the Flapjacks much happier despite their earlier loss. Robert and I took the rear with our arms slung over each other’s shoulders, almost like we were drunk. This celebratory high.

We’d done it. Nobody got hurt.

For this one sliver of a moment, everything was ok.

x

On the drive home I texted Mary with our triumphs and to make sure all Christiansens were truly accounted for. By the time we got back to my house, she’d responded with an emoji of two wine glasses clinking together, which I assumed was a good thing. All clear. A toast. Disaster firmly avoided.

“She can handle the rest,” Robert said, as he pulled his truck snug alongside my car in the driveway, like it belonged there.

“You sure?”

“I’m sure I’m starving and want a beer,” he said, grinning at me, still with that wild celebration in his eyes, and honestly that was enough for me.

When we walked inside, Betsy just about dive-bombed our shins, tail wagging with a ferocity that easily made up for what it lacked in size. She was all over Robert, acting like any dog does when her owner gets home, as if she’d been fearful all day that her favorite human wouldn’t return.

It sank into me that there had been a very real possibility of Robert not returning today. But he had. Here he was squatting in my living room to pat Betsy’s bony little rump, smiling small and maybe a little tired but so thoroughly alive. We both were alive. We’d made it.

The giddiness of that relief and our victory, how we not only succeeded but we _kicked ass_ , was vibrating around in my brain with the same reckless exuberance as Betsy’s tail. I kicked my work shoes across the room and threw myself down onto the sofa, grinning enormously. Robert tussled my hair on his way out to let Betsy at her choice of pee spots in my yard, and there was an unusual spring in his step also.

We were at that perfect combination of Fuck It I Don’t Care Anymore and Everything Is Beautiful.

We had breakfast cereal and beers for dinner, treating it like a delicacy, like we were young idiots again, maybe college freshman, that sense of invincibility we’d lost with our far-back twenties. We told stupid stories and laughed and touched each other far too much. Hands catching forearms, bumping shoulders, arms slung around each other loose and casual or in abrupt tight hugs just whenever we felt like it. At one point Robert got up and I grabbed him by the back of his jacket, sticking my hand right through the new hole there to catch him, and god that was morbid but I wheeled him around into a kiss, which was maybe also morbid, but our teeth knocked awkwardly because we were both grinning so much.

Maybe this was our way of panicking, this overwhelming euphoria just at being alive and having each other. But for this moment, it was nice. And we’d damn well earned nice for a little while.

As evening smoothed its way into real night, my windows going dark and still, we got ready for bed in our own ways that had already become a routine around each other. Zelda followed me into the bathroom as I went to take a shower. She had been acting quite unimpressed with my presence, unlike Betsy, but she also liked to be in nearby doorways wherever I was around, just coincidentally in her opinion I’m sure.

I closed her in there with me, and she curled up in the corner by the toilet while I showered, still with the curtain open because of that residual childish fear of enclosure, of blindness in a world with such surprises now. I’d never admit it, but the way she watched the water that escaped onto the floor like it was droplets of playthings, her fluffy tail swishing, comforted me.

When I stepped out into the hallway again, I was in just my boxers, hair wet and hanging, with my work clothes under my arm. Robert was watching me from down the hall, in the doorway to my bedroom that he’d been using. He was in a black tank, worn soft and a little frayed, and sweatpants. His hips were cocked against the doorjamb, his arms crossed, and I realized his dark eyes were roving over my semi-nakedness with absolutely no subtlety, but also relaxed, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

I felt Zelda’s fluff rub against my calves as she left to attend to her cat business.

I leaned back against the hallway wall, and met Robert’s gaze for a long time. Heat was creeping up my neck. Arousal but also shame, at how well I knew every little imperfection of myself, at how long it had been since I’d gotten into this sort of thing. But Robert’s expression wasn’t only hungry but fond. I’d watched him shave that very morning, what felt like ages ago. I’d let him brush his teeth before I went in for my shower.

He was walking toward me. I took in a sharp breath, and he pressed his body up against mine, and he kissed me.

I kissed back immediately, eagerly.

I dropped my work clothes, because fuck them honestly, and something like a chuckle rumbled in his throat, an appreciative hmmm into my mouth, as I framed his jaw in my hands and kissed him for just about everything I was worth.

His arms wrapped around me, so warm against my bare shower-wet goosebumps. He had nice arms.

My thumbs pressed through beard and I could feel the movement of his cheek as his mouth opened further, our kiss deepening. Our breaths were hot and quick between long pulls on each other’s lips.

He slid a thigh between my legs, pressing up closer to me, and I let my mouth fall open at the corner of his lips, a perfect opportunity for him to nose to my throat and nip lightly.

The brush of his shirt against my bare chest was oddly tantalizing, catching on a pebbled nipple. This was mighty unfair. So much of me was on display here and so little of him, but then again, I was cold and probably a little clammy, and he was so warm and perfect.

I gripped my fingers in his hair, pulling, as he got to work sucking and licking and biting the soft flesh just under my jaw, where my pulse was already hammering. I gulped in the air I’d neglected with all our kissing, and I squeezed my legs around his, throat going dry as I rasped out something like a moan.

It sounded embarrassing to my ears, but Robert must have thought it was very sexy indeed, because he grunted “Fuck” against my neck and then placed an oddly chaste little kiss under my chin.

“Are you ok?” I asked him breathlessly.

His head rose again and my hands fell to his shoulders. God, he looked good when he was all kissed and rumpled. I’d made an extra mess of his usual bedhead, but it looked so good, those gray flyaways curling at his forehead. I met his eyes, the affection I had for this person forming a lump in my throat, like a weight sitting above my stuttering heart.

He kissed my lips briefly. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Yeah. I’m ok.”

His hips rocked against mine, his thigh pressing at my crotch, which sent a nice jolt through the hum of arousal that was gathering down there. My boxers were sticking in places where I was getting wet, and not at all from residual shower water either.

“Tell me what you want,” I said, tracing my fingers over his clavicle at his low collar, just above where the hair of his chest curled black and inviting. Our faces were so close.

He kissed me again. And again.

“I don’t know,” he admitted against my lips. “I don’t have a plan. I don’t know how far would be good to go… But I’d like to go down on you right now. That’s about all I can think of.”

I laughed, and he swallowed it up in another kiss and I hummed and arched my back, hand splaying flat across his chest.

“Alright,” I said. “Yeah. That’s good. Just stop if you need to, ok?”

“Yeah.”

I told him what he could expect downstairs, in between quick small kisses. I told him what I wasn’t ok with, what was mostly fine. He made me promise I’d stop him if I got uncomfortable.

We were doing this. Somehow my conviction in going through with it had decided itself way before I actually realized woah, we were definitely doing this.

It was hard for two middle aged men to stumble their way down a hallway and make out at the same time, but we damn well did our best, and then he was pushing me unceremoniously back onto my own bed, and I was laughing at the surprise of that, and then he was leaning over me with his hands running down my bare sides, smiling like he was looking down at something so special, and god, that was me wasn’t it, what the hell.

He kissed his way down my chest, avoided the surgery scars like I’d told him too, running his knuckles across the hair of my belly, finally planting a very pointed kiss on the jut of my hip bone, and my knees twitched inward at that ticklishly, but also I was getting very wet and hot and bothered.

I swallowed, my heart hammering against my chest. Everything was heat, heat, heat except for my damn wet hair cold against the back of my neck. It was a weird incongruence, almost uncomfortable, but Robert Small was between my legs now at the foot of the bed, and his tank was hanging so I could catch a glimpse down his chest, and his eyes were twinkling absolutely devilishly.

Everything flooded me, all that relief and joy and fuck, love too, there was definitely love involved… It wasn’t the time to say it, but I knew it so clearly, and he was peppering kisses agonizingly across my lower stomach, just where the hair trailed into my boxers, and he was taking his damn time.

“You’re taking your damn time,” I stuttered out, already sounding way more wrecked than I’d expected to, and he huffed out a laugh that I felt hot against my skin and oh geez. I pressed my ass down against the mattress reflexively, back stretching, already too on edge.

His fingers curled in my boxers’ baggy elastic and he looked up over my body, meeting my eyes.

“Yes!” I said impatiently, and he smiled, and pulled them clean off, wrestling them down over my feet with glee.

He bit my inner thigh and I yelped, his hands pressing my legs open. Then he nuzzled his way to the center, kissing through increasing amounts of hair, until he finally pulled me open with a thumb and licked flatly right up the middle.

I huffed out a huge breath and my head snapped back against the blanket, eyes rolling to the ceiling. I watched the ceiling fan, heart clogging up my throat, as his lips shuffled exploratory through my folds, odd sloppy kisses, followed by long prodding and circling with his tongue. It was wet and perfect, and the not-quite-enough pleasure was slithering through my gut in lazy waves, making me have to fight to keep my breathing even. I started letting some noise out on each exhale, quiet but encouraging. Then he finally gave my engorged clit the attention it deserved and I was gasping and closing my eyes and my knees shook.

Oh shit oh shit oh shit

I could hear the wet clicks and smacks of his ministrations, his tongue pressing up the underside of my clit, his breath hot on the wetness inside me, and then his lips wrapped around me and oohhh fuck.

One of my hands inexplicably reached up and clenched in my own hair, my back arching. The pleasure was shooting up through me now in brutal perfect spikes and I was getting close to cumming, my breaths shorter and harsher, my eyes squeezed shut.

His other hand was holding my hips in place, pressed down just below my lower belly, and that just added to the pleasure of how he was sucking and licking at my clit and driving me absolutely crazy.

I came, my upper body jerking since my hips couldn’t, and my eyes flew open with the strained groan that pulled out of me as he rubbed me through the waves and sparks and last bursts of HOLY SHIT.

“Robert,” I gasped.

And he lifted his head just enough to look at me, hot and pleased and with a slick mouth, before diving right back to work on orgasm number two.

I swore at him, my toes curling, and put on the best show I could.

x

I was absolutely boneless when I finally patted his head and told him I didn’t think I could cum again until next Monday.

He laughed and crawled up onto the bed beside me, arm looping around my waist, kissing me lazily. He tasted like what you’d expect, which was always a little gross, but I’d be damned if I wasn’t going to kiss him silly right now anyway.

The arm he was propped up on curved over my head, and his dangling fingers brushed my wet hair. He was all nicely flushed and smiling and happy.

“Your turn,” I said.

But he smiled higher and kissed my forehead, like a quick apology.

“Not today,” he replied.

I shot an incredulous look at the pretty obvious erection in his sweatpants. But he grunted and flopped down on his stomach next to me, arm still thrown over my middle.

“Still worried about taking too much,” he said. “It’s not that I doubt you’d give it to me. It’s just… my own bad habits. I want to keep an eye on myself with this, so I don’t just throw everything away for some dumb reason. I think this time I just wanted to make you feel good and leave it at that.”

“Well, you did that super good,” I told him.

He laughed, pressing his face into my shoulder.

We lay there warm against each other. I turned to wrap an arm around him too, perching my chin over his head, and he sighed against my chest, and we just lay like that for a long time. The sleepiness and how every muscle in me seemed content to just be soup right now rounded off the edges of that crazy panicking joy of the evening, left me more subdued, but no less content to have Robert in my arms like this, in my bed. It was maybe melancholy, but still grounded in such a sense of rightness, of belonging, that it was poignant rather than truly sad.

Eventually I had to get up to pee, but I returned to my room again because somewhere along the line I’d gotten the idea we were going to sleep together tonight, and when I got back Robert had wriggled under the covers very obviously on one side of the bed, leaving a space for me just as I’d suspected.

I found my boxers on the floor, put them on, and climbed in next to him. His back was to me, so I wrapped an arm around him and rested behind him on the pillow. His hand came up to hold mine against his chest, over that patch of skin low on his collar.

“Are you ok?” I asked him again, just to make sure.

He hummed, low and gravelly with his own tiredness, and his thumb brushed over my finger.

“Yeah. You?”

“Yeah.” It came out like a whisper. I let my eyes close.

“Thanks for everything,” he told me.

“You’re the one who gave me head,” I reminded him.

He laughed. I felt it under my arm, against my chest.

“That’s not what I mean,” he said.

Sleep hovered around us but didn’t quite fall. I kissed the back of his neck. He sighed and one of his legs bent back, foot knocking my shin.

“There’s something I wanted to tell you,” I murmured. My eyes were still closed, my head heavy but my brain still working. “At Hugo’s house, up in his bedroom… Whatever that thing Crish was… He made me see things. Kinda… personal things, and some of them were yours.”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice going lower and lower with encroaching sleep. “I had the same thing for a bit.”

“I just wanted you to know. I didn’t want to uh. Look at some of your memories and just never mention it. I don’t know. It just seemed private.”

“No. Thanks for telling me,” he murmured. He shifted against me, lazy and limp. “I think I met Alex,” he said then. “When you guys adopted Amanda, I guess. There was a small accident and she told you everything would be ok. It seemed important.”

“Yeah,” I whispered. “Yeah, that was very important.”

My heart felt so raw and exposed. I wasn’t sure I could bring up everything that I’d seen right now, like exactly how Marilyn had probably died…

Instead I just said, “I saw when Val was born.”

He made such a contented sound, as if remembering it himself now. “I don’t mind,” he said at last. “Even the bad things, because I saw some bad things too… I don’t mind if it’s you.”

“Me neither.”

Maybe that wouldn’t be true in the morning, but it was at least true now, and also I was finally actually falling asleep.

“Goodnight, Robert.”

“Goodnight, George.”

It felt good to say and hear that.

I fell asleep happy. Safe.

x

We were woken up by my doorbell ringing over and over, so quickly the tolls wouldn’t even finish before starting a new one. For a slow frazzled moment we were just two warm blobs shifting under the blankets, knees knocking, grumbling with increasing irritation. Then I sat up.

It was still completely dark outside. What time was it? Blearily, I found my way out of bed and half-tripped out of the room. Robert followed me with a string of expletives.

The cold when I opened the front door hit my bare chest and legs like a physical thing, making me hunch over on myself.

It was Mary there on my doorstep.

She didn’t look nearly as desperate as she had all day, but also not good. It was more like she just didn’t have the energy left to panic anymore. Like everything had drained clean out of her.

“I fell asleep,” she said quietly, “and now they’re gone again.”

Her face was luminously pale in the porchlights. Robert’s brain was moving faster than mine, because he pushed open my door further and gently pulled me aside so Mary could get in.

“I checked every house,” she said. It was almost unnerving that she wasn’t swearing yet. “Every light’s off, everybody’s asleep. Safe.”

“Could one of the kids be at a sleepover or something?” Robert asked.

Mary shook her head. “On a Thursday, Smalls?” How long had she slept? She looked beyond exhausted.

How long had _we_ slept?

“How do they keep getting out?” I asked, my mind slowly unfogging.

“I don’t know,” she said. She crossed the room and sank into my sofa. She didn’t have a drink either. God, she was just so _tired_.

Robert stood behind her and laid his hands on her shoulders.

“They must be getting stronger somehow,” she murmured. “But why? I don’t know. I don’t know anything.”

“Hey,” said Robert. “We just have to find them again.”

“Where would they go? I’ve told you how many times... They’re grounded to this cul-de-sac, to the people living here. Where would they go if everybody’s here?”

“There must be somebody off somewhere… Just calm down…”

It was a funny thing to say, considering that she was more like too calm, like she was half dead.

“I don’t know,” she said again.

I stood beside them and sifted through my mind, for any clues, maybe something Joseph had said or anybody in the neighborhood with a damn overnight bookclub…

Then it hit me.

I almost wished it hadn’t.

I very much needed to sit down but couldn’t quite get there so I just leaned my hand on the sofa’s arm, abrupt and heavy.

“George?” Robert asked, and Mary had the barest flash of life as well, scanning my face.

“Amanda,” I croaked.

x


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ya'll thought I had forgotten you. Never!! We're gearin up for the big one, lads.

The first thing I did was call Amanda.

It was ass o’clock in the morning but I was too scared to care. Robert and Mary watched me anxiously as I paced circles around the living room, listening to the rings.

“Hey--”

“Panda?” I asked immediately, heart lurching, only for her voice to cheerfully plow right over me into her prerecorded voice mail message.

“I’m busy I guess, but you know what to do with that beep!” There was a short silence, then the message tone as promised.

I just stood there swallowing. I hung up and redialed.

Fuck. If anything happened to her…

“George,” said Robert from across the room, but I held up my index finger-- _just a minute_ \--without looking up.

The phone rang again and again… Then…

“Dad?”

God, it felt like all my insides grew ten times heavier, but also less strung up. “H-hey, Panda,” I said.

There was a shift over by the sofa out of the corner of my eye, Robert or Mary slumping with relief.

“Dad what the hell, it’s like 4am,” Amanda said, her voice groggy.

“Language, honey,” I said, humor manically tight, my grin hurting my face.

“... Are you ok?” she asked.

“Yeah… Yeah I’m fine.” What could I even say? “Gosh. I don’t know where to start… Sorry I woke you up. There’s a lot going on, I guess.”

“What happened?” I was making her worried. “Are you alone? Is Robert with you?”

“He’s here, yeah, and Mrs. Christiansen. I’m ok, Amanda, I’m just… Um.” How could I possibly explain any of this? “Listen, I’m coming down to HIA tomorrow.”

“What? Dad--”

“I just need to check up on you, ok?”

It wasn’t fair, because I was saying it in the Alex tone of voice, the tone of voice we both used when we couldn’t bear to explain right now but needed some space or support. I hated using such a thing _now_ , when neither of us had needed it in so long, but it was the only thing I knew would work.

I just needed to get down there and make sure she was safe.

There was a long pause, but finally she said “Ok, Dad,” very softly.

“I’m sorry,” I said again. “I’ll explain everything when I get there. But knowing how late you sleep, I’ll probably be there when you get up.”

I managed to get a stiff but genuine little laugh out of her. “You betcha. Drive safe, ok Dad?”

“I will. And… You be safe too, ok? Call me if anything happens.”

“I’m ok, Dad,” she said, with the firm surety of someone talking down their panicking parent, completely unknowing of how grounded my fears actually were.

The conversation was effectively over and she deserved some sleep, but it was hard to let her go.

I wouldn’t let myself anywhere near thinking _What if I never talk to her again?_

“I love you,” I told her, my voice wrecked and tears pinching the back of my eyes immediately.

“I love you too, Dad,” she said. “I’ll see you tomorrow, right?”

“Yeah. Tomorrow.”

She waited for me to hang up, staying in case I needed something else from her. I hated to put so much on her shoulders…

“I love you,” I said again, and she repeated it too, and then finally I hung up.

It felt so… final.

I was about ready to just crumble utterly, staring down at my blank phone, but then arms were wrapping around me from behind, almost scaring me. I had been so engrossed in my conversation, I hadn’t noticed Robert come to my side.

He just held me for a long moment and I let myself be steadied. I tilted my head back against his shoulder and blinked rapidly at the ceiling, trying to keep from crying.

“I’m going to go check on her,” I said. “I have to. If there’s any chance they might--”

“We’re coming with you,” said Mary. I wasn’t sure whether to be comforted by her conviction or frightened by it. A part of her seemed to know her family was there…

God, I should call Amanda again, I should warn her somehow, _stay inside_...

My brain was unspooling one thousand different things I _needed to do_ , but also Robert was holding me more tightly, the warmth of his soft shirt against my bare back. I thought if he let go now I’d just fall apart into splintered pieces.

But he didn’t let go, and eventually I was able to lower my phone.

Mary didn’t look anything like her usual businesslike manner. Instead she stared at us, hollow and tired, but she didn’t relent either.

“We’ll keep her safe, George,” she said, with no force and yet with the simplicity of truth.

For now, I chose to believe her.

x

It was Mary who told us so matter-of-factly that we couldn’t leave the dog and cat without a sitter. As if we were preparing for an ordinary vacation. If I thought about it too much it made me want to laugh, which I knew would end in crying.

We went to Damien’s again, close to 5am now with still no sign of the sunrise yet.

When we stepped onto the ornate front porch, the porchlight illuminated a gaudy blue tent hitched up against a gargoyle, and we eyed this quizzically before big dog barks erupted from inside and a frazzled Ernest stuck his head out.

“It’s just us,” said Robert, as Ernest tensely tried to blink through sleep to discern any potential threats.

Hugo also appeared, grumbling to himself, hair a mess.  
“What are you doing out here?” Mary asked. “Sure, the porch is protected just as fine as the rest of the house, but I’m pretty sure Dames would rather die than not offer his spare room to you guys.”

“Duchess,” said Ernest.

“Lucien’s asthma was getting bad enough that we really couldn’t have her inside…” Hugo explained, his voice somewhere between Teacher Voice and exhausted gravel-throat. “Ernest refused to let her sleep out here by herself and… well, I didn’t want Ernest to be out here alone either. Lucien lent us an old tent. Trust me, Damien hates it.”

They were both dressed in all black, seemingly borrowing pajamas from their two hosts. Hugo was about ready to burst out of what looked mysteriously like an anime t-shirt.

“The most surprising part of that is Lucien had camping equipment,” said Robert.

Hugo managed some sleepy cheer. “Believe it or not, Lucien used to be a Boy Scout back in the day. So was Ern--”

“HUGO,” Ernest snapped.

“I guess that explains why the tent’s so small,” said Robert.

Behind their two heads we could just catch a glimpse of Duchess watching us happily, taking up over half the tent space with utter innocence.

Hugo’s eyes fell on me, and I noticed an increase in his attempts to wake up. “Did something happen?” he asked.

I tried to wipe off whatever had been on my face to elicit that question. “We just need Damien to watch the pets at my house for a couple days,” I said, smiling quickly.

“Maybe it’s better this way,” said Mary. “If we talked to Dames directly he’d never let us go.”

“Let you go where?” Hugo was trying to wake up in full force now.

“Don’t worry about it,” said Robert placatingly. “Just pass on the message and we’ll see you all later, alright?” A white lie for an exhausted dad. Dastardly.

Duchess made a snuffling boof in her jowls and Ernest, deciding this adult talk was no longer interesting, shuffled back into the tent, elbowing Hugo liberally. At least this seemed to seal the deal of Hugo’s distraction.

“Get some sleep,” Robert said, not without kindness.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” said Hugo, clearly resorting to the dad handbook of default goodbye phrases in his delirium, but he’d finally let his eyes slide closed again.

“Thanks, Hugo,” I told him.

When we left, the Vegas were probably already asleep again, with a happy dog protector. Damien and Lucien didn’t hear a peep.

It was backwards, and surely our friends would be wrecks when they found out what we were actually up to behind their backs. But we were all tired, and these tiny betrayals seemed somehow less cruel than taking away a moment of peace for these people we cared about.

x

HIA was about eight hours away, give or take some traffic and speeding. We took my car, loaded up with quick toiletries and clothes and snacks, and I drove the first leg for no other reason than it was my car.

Once we got to the highway, the whole world was silence, a barely real haze as the sky started to gray but without a clear sunrise on the horizon yet. It was just a wishy washy time of day, unsure what it wanted to be, and every detail smeared in the fuzzy light, wobbling on the precipice of existence.

It felt like my panic was muted here, like maybe I wasn’t even quite whole and cognizant of myself. Like maybe my edges were just as blurred, spilling over into the gray backdrop.

Robert sat beside me in the passenger’s seat while Mary tried to spread out for a nap in the back, having changed into some purple sweatpants utterly clashing with her black sweater. We didn’t talk, and even though I had music playing quietly it sounded like it was coming from another dimension.

Then the sun rose, and with it came clarity. My anxiety sat like a brick in my gut, but somehow it was preferable to that fog of nothingness.

We got some McDonald’s breakfast and I continued driving with an egg mcmuffin in my hand.

“You’ve got rocks in your car,” Mary said, coming back to life a bit through the power of mini pancakes, which she ate dry pinched between her fingers. She was awake now, sitting plum in the middle of the backseat and hunching forward between us. Apparently she didn’t believe in seatbelts.

“Rocks?” I repeated.

Robert tapped my dashboard, where there were indeed a collection of rocks squeezed up under the windshield.

“Oh. It’s just a habit I guess,” I said. “I see a cool rock, I take it. Amanda and I always thought we’d start an official collection, but I don’t think we ever had the attention span for it. We both just kinda… take cool rocks but put them nowhere in particular.”

“Like father like daughter,” said Robert.

I adjusted my hand on the wheel, lowering my sandwich. Couldn’t really eat with the lump that had formed in my throat…

“I can drive the next leg,” said Mary. “Just say the word. You should probably try for some sleep yourself.”

“Thanks… I’m alright for now. It’s kind of nice to be occupied.”

Robert’s dark eyes stared ahead out the windshield, and he rubbed a hand over the stubble that was already sneaking across his cheeks. He turned up the music.

Around 10:30 we stopped for gas and while I was in the bathroom, Mary usurped the driver’s seat anyway, and I realized that actually yeah I was very tired. I crawled into the back as we changed formation, and to my vague surprise Robert came to sit beside me rather than taking the passenger’s seat again. He was a warm presence, and when I tried to lay down he guided me by the shoulder to rest my head against his leg. He ran his thick fingers through my hair, clumsy but welcome.

Mary changed the radio to some discordant rock I didn’t recognize, and it wasn’t long at all before exhaustion trumped fear and knocked me out. I woke up with Robert’s jacket laid across me like a blanket, smelling like stale cigarette smoke.

It reminded me of that last barbecue just a few weeks ago, sneaking his jacket warmth, surrounded by the lowkey comfort of friends. It felt like an entire lifetime had happened since then.

But he was still here at least. Robert’s hand was rested idly on my neck, and I heard a muttered curse from Mary as she switched lanes. There was still comfort here, still friends.

Even though I was effectively awake, I stayed with my eyes closed and relished this moment for as long as I could bear, tucking my chin into the warmth of the jacket and forcing my mind to be quiet.

x

We drove through lunch subsisting on snacks, but we did stop again for pissing, and Robert said he could drive next.

Mary scoffed at him meanly.

“Yeah you haven’t driven yet, but you’re also the one who hasn’t slept yet,” she told him. “I’d rather stay behind the wheel than have you conking out and killing us.”

He grunted, but he didn’t argue and I felt a brief pang wondering how easily he was convinced by past experience.

He requested the back to himself, so I took the passenger’s seat, and sure enough he was snoring in no time as Mary took us through the corner of another state. The car was uncomfortably hot now in the sun, and I was sick of car-smell, which made it a fairly normal road trip by my estimation. As long as I didn’t think of our destination, I could almost enjoy it.

Ha. What a thought…

I navigated with the GPS on Mary’s phone (Mary and Robert had both mocked my inability to use my own), and surprisingly she was getting pretty talkative. I wasn’t sure whether that meant she was reinvigorated or more nervous than ever. Robert always knew her better than I did, so with him asleep now I was weirdly exposed.

“Don’t be so scared of me, sailor,” she said abruptly.

Oh my god, how did she do that.

“Uh,” I said wisely.

I expected her to have more of a mean grin on her face, but actually she was fairly serious, maybe even sad, staring ahead at the road.

“Sorry,” I found myself saying.

“Shouldn’t I be the one apologizing?” There was some bite in that at least, thankfully. “This is my problem I’ve wrapped you guys up in.”

“I mean… yeah, but you’re our friend, right?”

“It’s always pretty simple with you, isn’t it?”

I had no idea what she meant by that so I just said “Guess so.”

We rumbled along for awhile in silence and music and Robert snores, and I assumed the weird mini conversation was effectively over, but Mary seemed to still find some use in talking to me.

“It’s weird all this is winding up at a college,” she said. “I met Joseph in college.”

“Really?” Robert had said Mary and Joseph used to love each other, and of course it logically must be true, but it was a little hard to picture. “Young lovers sort of thing?”

“Yeah, we moved out of the dorms right in with each other,” she said. “Travelled too. We skipped around some hostels in Europe. Worked on farms and shit. That was the sort of thing we were into back then. And the boats, of course. Joe always loved the ocean.”

I didn’t know how careful I should be with this story. She said it all so matter-of-factly. “It sounds like you two were really happy,” I tried.

“As larks,” said Mary. “Always one adventure after another. Experiments, looking for the next big awakening or whatever. The religions, like I told you. It wasn’t always so desperate, looking for a place. Back then, the only ‘place’ we needed was each other.”

“That’s… amazing.”

“Innit?”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.”

“What was Joseph like back then?”

To my surprise, she smiled. “He was a good man,” she said. “He still is. I was mad for him. I didn’t usually fall for the nice types, but he was the first time I let somebody else take care of me, you know? And it felt good. Until then, I was always the big sister, the peace-keeper of the house, the friend keeping everybody’s shit together. I always dated guys who would challenge me, because I thought I didn’t want anything else. Joey was the first time I found an adventure who was also sweet to me. I’d never had sweetness. I loved it.”

I was rather speechless at that, so there was a silence before Mary continued.

“Maybe we just made the same mistakes everybody does. We didn’t talk about the problems enough. We didn’t talk about the things we wanted that we weren’t getting. When Chris was born it was the best thing in the world, but we also lost our ticket to paradise. We had to change a lot, and maybe we tried to be parents like we saw on tv instead of actually being ourselves. We got all tied up in appearances somewhere… and we lost it. We lost ourselves, but we also lost what made our relationship work, you know? Joe got so stunted and compressed, and all I could see was how much he desperately wanted to escape. I was so afraid of losing him I acted out, trying to keep him but only pushing him further under. And I did lose him. Funny, huh? He gave up on me ages ago, not only sleeping with other people but just… Those adventures he wanted didn’t include me any more. And that hurt so much I just kept hurting him back. By now we’re so screwy it’s hard to even know what we’re doing or how it started or whose fault it was… We just fucked up. And now we’re stuck with our fuck up, and it’s torture.”

“I’m sorry, Mary.”

“I told you not to be.”

“... Do you love him?” I asked.

She snorted, some combination of self-deprecation and sadness but also… fondness. “I don’t know,” she said. It came out like a sigh, like the words leaving her relieved some unspoken tension neither of us had noticed. “I don’t know,” she repeated. “It might be more like… I don’t know how to _not_ love him anymore. I’m not sure what that would even feel like. Am I already there? It’s stupid, but I’m just not sure.”

“It’s not stupid,” I said quietly.

“I love my kids,” she said.

“That’s good. That’s golden.”

She smiled, the fondness much more concrete now. “You’re a good guy, George. I’m glad he caught you.” She glanced at the rearview mirror, where Robert was a rumpled lump under his jacket in the backseat.

“I’m glad too,” I said, struck a bit dumb by such blatant affection from her. “Listen… Mary.”

“Oh no, you’re about to say something sappy and awful,” she told me.

“Well, yeah. But really, it means a lot that you two have my back.”

“Whatever,” she said, but she was still smiling.

I wanted to say more, offer some comfort, tell her I did genuinely care about her. But the moment was already passing, and soon I’d hesitated too long.

She told me who was singing the song on the radio, and started trash talking bands I’d never heard of.

And that was that.

Robert woke up eventually, rolling up with some spectacular bedhead even by his standards, and we all three wiled away the time and the miles simply with each other’s company.

x


End file.
